Disaster Road
by RivetingRosie4
Summary: How did Arthur become the man we see in RDR2? No matter how you played, this work offers an answer to that question. A sweeping account of Arthur's relationships with the two women in his life (Mary & Eliza). An estimation of one life's effects on others (Arthur's effect on those around him and vice versa). A portrait of a soul's journey into darkness.
1. Part 1: Mary

***Hi there. :) This work is also on Archive of Our Own (Ao3), another fan fiction site that allows for inclusion of pictures and links in chapters. Whenever there have been pictures in a chapter that I couldn't include here but did so on Ao3, I include the link to Ao3 here so you can see it. You just need to copy and paste the link and remove spaces, since does not allow me to share links.***

* * *

.

Summer of 1882

.

Arthur felt his horse slacken just a bit and nudged him into a quicker pace. He felt his pulse quicken as he did it. It had been two days since he'd last seen Mary—two days too long.

He slowed to a trot as he reached the edge of the town nearest camp, called Moffett Landing—her hometown. They'd first met here a number of months ago after he and the Van der Linde gang had arrived and pitched camp in the woods outside the northeast corner of town.

She was the only one in town who knew the Van der Linde gang had arrived, only one in town who knew what he did for a living; and she hadn't scorned him—at least not yet.

Mary was the noblest, kindest person he knew. He wanted to do right by her. It turned out his friendship with an eighteen year-old girl was the purest thing he'd ever known. He hadn't felt this way about anybody before.

The two of them had become close and were now taking every opportunity to see each other. Mary had shared things about her childhood with him. He had told her what he remembered of his parents (though almost all of it was not good) and about how he owed everything to Dutch for taking him off the streets when he was fourteen and about how he felt about the gang—how it was nothing short of his family—and still she had not shied away from him. She had even introduced him to her father and younger brother, Jamie. Arthur thought Jamie had taken a liking to him, though he couldn't say the same about her father. He was very cold and aloof whenever Arthur came around. Arthur was determined to show him, not simply tell him, that he wanted the best for his daughter.

Arthur had only told one person at camp about him and Mary—a young daughter of fellow gang members. She wouldn't leave him a moment of peace until he told her why he "looked like a circus performer with that smile smeared across his face," why he was "scurrying and pecking at his clothes and hair like a chicken with his head cut off," and why he was away from camp more than usual these days. He hadn't wanted to get her parents involved to demand their child stay the hell away from him because he knew once they heard what she was on him about, they would want to know the answers to her questions. He finally broke down and told her in confidence. He knew it couldn't be long before there was a new rumor spreading about him through camp, this one true.

When he thought about how strongly he felt for Mary, how quickly they had become close, and how honest he had been with her, he shuddered to think how Dutch would respond if he knew. It went without saying how reckless it was to tell even one person about the gang who didn't need to know, much less a person Dutch had not yet personally vetted and deemed trustworthy.

Arthur passed a few farms until he came to the heart of town and turned a couple corners, following the lane until he arrived at the local mercantile, their in-town meeting place. He grinned when he saw her waiting under the awning. He dismounted and hitched his horse to the post.

"Well, isn't it a fine day to see you here, Arthur Morgan!" she said beaming. "Missed you," and she immediately took his free hand in hers.

He smiled as he said, "It's only been two days, Mary!" in spite of himself. "Surely you've had enough to occupy yourself in that time."

"Sure!" she said. "But the fact remains." She slid her arm into his, and they fell into an easy step down the boardwalk.

"How's Jamie?" he asked.

"He's well. Been talking about wanting to buy a horse. I suspect that's due to admiration of you on yours," she grinned.

"Man's gotta have a reliable horse," he said.

"He does see you as more of his idea of a man than he does father, I think. He looks up to you."

"Boy's gotta have a strong man to pattern himself after. He's gonna look somewhere."

"Daddy won't have it. Our barn hasn't hasn't seen a single horse, hardly an animal since mama died. Anyways, I think he resents you for it."

"Well, I'll try not to resent him for resenting me," he chuckled. "What do you have planned for today, Miss Mary?"

"I need to pick up a book at the book shop," she responded.

"How convenient a coincidence!" he said in an elaborately sarcastic tone. "I was just on my way there."

Mary smiled and played along, "Why, sir, what book is it you're looking to read?"

"Aw, I'll stick to the paper. That oughtta do me."

Seeing him look away, she tried to reassure him. "I'll purchase you one, if you like." She said smiled and continued looking forward as they walked.

"Oh, it's not that," he said. "I got some cash on me."

"Well, I know you can read," she said leaning into his arm, jokingly alluding to the letters they had written and left for each other in their secret drop, even with as often as they tried to meet.

"Oh, I can read just fine," he said. "Can write just fine too. I just ain't never read a full book before," he chuckled breathily.

"Why not?"

"Oh," he sighed, "I s'pose it's 'cause I never actually finished school. Had to leave when I was twelve."

She slowed to a stop, causing him to stop, and she looked at him. "That's sad."

With anyone else, he would've taken it as a sardonic jab at his honor and intelligence. But with the look in her eyes, he never questioned her sincerity.

"That makes me sad, Arthur."

He cocked his head to the side and nodded slightly as if in admission of the pathetic nature of his childhood and schooling. "Reckon it was the way things had to be," he said as they continued walking. "My father was killed that year. I was on my own. Had more important things to think about than books and primers. Like…where I was gonna sleep that night, where I was gonna find food…generally how I was gonna stay alive."

"And you've been fighting ever since," she said. "I'm so sorry, Arthur. No child should have to face that. Certainly not alone."

"Wasn't always alone. There were other kids, you know, on the streets. Then a couple years later I met Dutch. Dutch took me in. Took me under his wing."

She nodded.

"Dutch and Hosea taught me to read better than any schooling ever did. We just didn't have many books lying around," he chuckled. "So I never been exposed to all those fine, classic works of literature or high thoughts," he said throwing a hand up in a grand gesture, "that maybe you were if you had books growing up. Never had the time."

"Oh, darn!" she snapped her fingers. "You know you've really missed out on works by great men like Shakespeare, Swift, and Hawthorne!" She chuckled, then looked over to see his blank expression. "They're duds," she said. "I'm joking." His face softened with understanding. "I think you'd like Dickens, though," she said.

"Maybe we can read together sometime," he said.

She smiled and looked up. "I'd like that."

"What book are you picking up now?"

"The Condensed Guide to Modern Horticulture for the Amateur."

"Horti-what?"

She laughed. "It's the study of the science and art of gardening."

"Gardening? One thing I can't help you with. Maybe you can teach me."

"Maybe with this book I can," she grinned.

He thought for a moment as they walked. "Hey, Mary…you ever thought of going to university?"

She looked at him, her eyebrows gathering. "Why?"

"You're just so smart, I bet you'd do great. I wouldn't want you to hold yourself back from anything that could be good for you."

She tilted her head a bit. "Father brought it up last month. He thinks I should go." She looked down for a moment as they walked. "I just…I'd like to wait and see where life leads before I make a big decision like that. It's a lot of money."

"Don't think about the money. Do you want to go?"

She lifted one shoulder and looked at him. "What I want is to stay in the here and now, with you," she said with a gleam in her eye.

"Fine by me," he smiled. As they looked forward, a tall, thin man in a top hat and suit came striding toward them. "Oh, look at this dandy," Arthur said under his breath, but loud enough for Mary to hear. She stifled a laugh and nudged him with her arm.

Mary addressed him as he approached. "Good morning, Mr. Linton. I don't believe I've had the opportunity to introduce you to my friend…Tacitus." Arthur and Mary looked at each other, and her eyes pulsated wide for the briefest moment.

"Tacitus Kilgore, pleased to meet you, sir," Arthur said, sticking his hand out to him.

"Tacitus! What an interesting name!" Linton said as he shook Arthur's hand.

"Mr. Kilgore, this is Mr. Barry Linton, owner of the local millinery shop," Mary said.

"Ah…millinery?" Arthur said. "You like them hats I see," he said with a smug grin.

"Why, yes, it's my business!" Linton smiled thinking he'd made a good joke as he touched the brim of his hat with his gloved hand. "Miss Gillis, it's so good to see you. I was wondering if you'd consider accompanying me to the ice cream social next week?"

"Oh, uh…actually, I'm afraid I have a prior commitment that day," she said in a confident tone with a bright smile.

At the question, Arthur squinted an eye at the man, but Linton was absorbed in Mary.

"Oh, all right. No trouble. Perhaps next time," Linton said.

"Perhaps," Mary said graciously.

"Where are you off to today?" Linton asked.

"We're just on our way to the book shop," Mary said quietly.

"Oh! I love books!" Linton said. "I do love books. You should see my home library. Every sort of book, books on every topic!"

"Oh yeah?" Arthur stepped away from Mary and next to Linton so that they were both in her view. "What's your favorite writer?"

"Oh, that would be a tough one, but I'd have to say…" Linton said scrunching up his face with his hand on his chin, "Shakespeare! Shakespeare, of course. It'd have to be Shakespeare."

To cover the laugh Mary gave through her nose, Arthur said quickly, "And what do you think about Swift?"

"Jonathan Swift? Oh, Gulliver's Travels is one of my favorites! A joy to read, sir! Absolutely a joy!"

Mary bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"And what of Hawthorne?" Arthur asked, peering at him.

"Well, The Scarlet Letter is widely regarded as one of the greatest novels in all of literature," Linton said, and Mary's face turned pink as she fought to keep from giggling, "though it is a rather dark, gothic novel, I find."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll try to keep your recommendations in mind next time I'm considering what to read…and what to avoid," he said as he stepped back in place next to Mary.

"Oh, please do! You won't be disappointed, I can promise you that," Linton said. "A very well-cultured friend you have here, Miss Gillis!"

Mary pulled both lips inward past her teeth, smiled, and nodded. "Mm-hm."

"What book is it you're picking up today?" Linton asked.

Seeing Mary was unable to speak, Arthur looked at Linton, raised his eyebrows, and said, "Horticulture."

"Ah! One subject I cannot add to. I'll let you both be on your way. Good day," he said tipping his hat as he walked between them.

Arthur touched the brim of his hat and turned to watch him pass.

As soon as they saw him turn a corner, Mary let out an enormous, hearty laugh. "Arthur!" she laughed, pushing him as she continued walking.

"Ugh! What a half-wit if I ever saw one!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Arthur! He's a…nice man," she giggled.

"Ice cream social, he wants you for!" he said moving in front of her so she had to look at his face. When he elicited another laugh from her, he was satisfied and fell back into step beside her. "Pray, Miss Gillis, what is this 'prior commitment' you have planned that day?"

She went beet red as he took her hand in his. She rested her head on his arm as they walked toward the book shop.

Once inside, she stepped up to the front desk and requested The Condensed Guide to Modern Horticulture for the Amateur, saying she had ordered it to be delivered and giving her name.

The clerk went to the shelf and returned to place a thick tome on the counter.

"That's 'condensed'?" Arthur said and Mary laughed.

"And one copy of A Tale of Two Cities, if you have it," she said.

"Of course," he smiled and returned with the book.

Mary took it and immediately put it in Arthur's hands. "Dickens," she said.

Arthur looked confused. "But…we were supposed to read this together," he said.

A smile slowly broadened across Mary's face at the words, and her eyes twinkled. She rose up on her tiptoes and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.


	2. 2

Arthur was on his way out of camp to meet Mary once again when Dutch noticed him check his hair in a mirror, doubt himself, check again, and finally give up.

Dutch walked over as Arthur mounted his horse. "Hey, Arthur," he said, and Arthur turned his head toward him. Dutch walked up and looked at the horse, placing a hand on the horse's shoulder. "You going to see that girl, what's her name…Mary?"

Arthur tried not to stiffen so obviously at the name. "Yes, sir."

Dutch nodded. He looked back down at the horse, patting its shoulder. "I do hope she's good enough for the man I call my son. Bring her by camp tomorrow," he said looking up at Arthur. "I'd like to meet her." He smiled after he'd spoken the words.

Arthur tried to smile and instead fought a frown. What he was left with was an awkward stiff sliver which would not serve him by producing words of response. He nodded briefly and led his horse onward.

Having been in earshot of the conversation, Hosea stepped beside Dutch. "You're forcing him to tell her what he does for a living and about the gang," Hosea said. "You think he's ready?"

"I'm no dim-wit. Arthur is young. This is his first real bout with love," Dutch said as he watched Arthur ride away. "He's already told her about us. That's why he didn't object."

"That's a breach of gang rules," Hosea said.

Dutch tensed his chin, causing his bottom lip to rise as he watched Arthur disappear over the far hill. "Even being 'in love,' I trust him. I'll reserve my judgement for the both of them until I've met her."


	3. 3

"Now don't—don't be afraid to let me know if you're ever uncomfortable," Arthur said. Mary was seated in front of him in the saddle. "We can leave at any time, you just say the word. They're a…motley bunch. Nothing you're used to."

"I'm sure they're lovely, Arthur," Mary reassured him. "If they're anything like you." She placed her hand over his clenched grip on the reigns. For the first time she realized how tense he was. She smiled. "Arthur, please don't be so nervous. No matter how it goes, it won't lessen your stature in my eyes. Is that what you're worried about?"

"Actually…no. No, it's not. It's…" he sighed. "Well, you'll see."

"You probably shouldn't say such things if you want me to remain calm and open-minded. You'll start to make me nervous!"

"Probably should be," he grumbled. "You're too sweet to realize it."

As they road through the woods and finally neared camp, Arthur slowed to a stop. As Arthur dismounted and helped Mary down, Dutch approached them.

"So! This is Mary!" he said with his arms raised. "I'm glad to meet the girl who has so obviously captured Arthur's heart." He took Mary's hand and kissed it in a grand gesture. "Come, let me introduce you to the group and show you around." He whisked her about camp, introducing her to the handful of people who called it home.

Though Mary hadn't known what to expect, she was amazed at the capability of these rough people to thrive in such rugged living. They even had a child with them.

Eventually Dutch was called away to discuss something with a few of the men, and Mary was left to wander about on her own.

She came upon a woman she had not been introduced to before. She watched as the woman mended a tear in a dark vest. Her raven hair was tied back in a beautiful long braid. Her movements were graceful, even with something as small and insignificant as sewing. "Good afternoon," Mary said.

"Same to you," the woman nodded. "Name's Annabelle. And you are?"

"Mary."

"Mary! There's been a lot a talk about you recently," Annabelle smiled. "A lot a talk about 'Arthur's girl.'"

Mary blushed.

"You be good to him. He deserves nothing less."

Mary nodded. She had wanted to say something like, 'I will,' or 'I agree,' but her throat tightened. No one had so blatantly implied their intentions, not even Arthur or Mary themselves.

Just then the young girl Mary had met earlier came running up to Annabelle.

"Miss Annabelle, would you mend my doll, Sally? She has an awful tear on her arm," she said pointing out the wound.

"Leave her here, and I'll fix her next," Annabelle said.

"Thank you!" the girl hugged Annabelle before saying "I'm going to play by the river!" and running off.

"Make sure someone watches you!" Annabelle called after her.

Mary smiled. "She's darling."

"She is, isn't she?" Annabelle smiled, then chuckled. "At least, she is when she wants to be."

"Are you her mother?" Mary asked.

Annabelle smiled. "We're all really her mothers," she said, referring to the few women in the group. "We're one big family here. We watch out for each other. Loyalty. That's what Dutch says matters most."

* * *

As Arthur rode Mary back home, she thought back on the afternoon.

"You needn't have been so worried, Arthur. They behaved themselves just fine," she said leaning back against him.

"They did, didn't they?" he said. "Gotta be careful, though. With such a band of misfits, good behavior is usually something to be wary of."

She laughed. "Oh, Arthur. Try not to be so cynical." After a moment she said, "That Annabelle is lovely."

"Yeah, you two got on?" he said. "That's Dutch's girl."

"She was very kind to me," she said. "There's something so…almost regal about her."

"Hm?" Distracted for a moment, he kissed her on the cheek.

"And a child so precious? These were the last things I expected to find."

"We certainly can surprise," he said as they approached her family ranch. "I'm just glad you had a good first impression."


	4. 4

A few weeks later, Annabelle suddenly became ill. She was quarantined in a tent, put in bed and made comfortable, given soothing syrups, and watched closely. But to no avail. Within a couple days, she was retching every few minutes and her fever spiked.

Arthur stood in the corner of the tent as Hosea searched through a small medical book he kept for such occasions, trying to rule out certain diseases while Dutch hovered over her, his mouth covered with a cloth.

"No. No, no," Hosea said thumbs through the pages, taking his finger down each page as her looked at the known symptoms for each illness. "Good news is we can rule out tuberculosis and pneumonia. She doesn't have any pox, does she?"

"No pox," Dutch said.

"I think it's influenza," Hosea said looking up.

Dutch looked at him, his eyebrows gathering. He looked back at Annabelle as Hosea rose and came to her bed with his mouth covered.

Hosea placed a hand over Annabelle's forehead. "Her fever's getting too high. Needs willowbark or meadow-wort to bring it down. Real bad. Some opium might help for the pain, but it's secondary in importance to the herbs."

"Where can we find that?" Dutch asked.

"I'll send the boys to look for some," Hosea said and left the tent.

Dutch watched as every few minutes she would lean over and attempt to retch, but heave in vain.

Hosea drew a few quick copies of the herbs in question and sent the men of the gang, including Arthur, in every direction to search for them. Arthur immediately thought of Mary and left a note in their secret drop asking her to meet him that evening.

After a full day of scouring the area within several miles radius, the men came back that evening with nothing.

Arthur dipped his head as he entered the tent to look upon the dismal scene.

Dutch watched by flickering candlelight as Annabelle trembled, the drops of sweat collecting on her forehead and running down her temple. Her lips were getting lighter, and she clutched the blanket tight to her chin. Her strength had been completely sapped, so she no longer attempted to retch at all.

"She's gotten even worse," Dutch said in a strenuous tone.

"She won't eat or drink. And she's burning up," Hosea said.

Dutch took one of her pale, clammy hands in his as he kept a cloth over his mouth with the other. "Oh, Annabelle," he said in a husky voice.

Arthur could hardly bear to watch the scene. Dutch was not one for emotional fanfare, so Arthur could tell that Annabelle was on death's door just by the expression on his face.

"I'm not givin' up, Dutch," Arthur said. "Don't you worry. I'll be back." Arthur rushed out of the tent and was off to see Mary.

.

With the sun setting, Arthur approached Moffett Landing and saw a couple law men on horses at the mouth of the town's main street. He didn't let it unnerve him, but he chose to take back roads to Mary's. It looked like one of the gang's jobs must've had a bit of a snag recently.

As Arthur came up to Mary's family property, he slowed his horse to a quiet pace. The barn was Mary's favorite personal place to be alone, since it was never visited by anyone else and was a good distance from the homestead. It was also the perfect place for him to arrive to meet her or take her for a ride, since he could ride up on the opposite side from the homestead, and her father would be none the wiser.

Arthur saw her standing at the door of the barn in the dim light. He dismounted and ran to her, taking her inside the barn.

"I saw your note; what's going on?" she asked.

"It's Annabelle," he said out of breath. "She fell sick, real bad. Influenza. Her fever's real high, keeps going up."

"Oh, no," Mary whispered.

Arthur's head hung low. "It's horrible. They're watchin' her around the clock. Dutch is wretched. You oughta see him."

"Arthur…" she said putting hand on his cheek.

He went into his coat pocket and pulled out the slip of paper Hosea had given him. "Have you seen one of these? Either of 'em?" Mary took the paper, looking at the drawings and the names Hosea had labeled them with. "They're medicinal herbs," Arthur said. "I thought with your horticulture…maybe…"

"No, no," Mary said. "It has nothing to do with medicine."

Arthur sighed.

She shook her head. "I haven't seen either of these around here, but—"

"I've gotta find 'em," he said taking the paper. "I can't waste any time."

"Arthur—"

He mounted his horse. "Annabelle's hanging on by a thread, and it's not lookin' good."

Mary watched as he rode away. It was true, she hadn't seen any in the wild around town. But what she had been trying to say was that she knew the local doctor kept medicinal herbs in his office. She paced back and forth, wondering how she could get to them. If she didn't have the symptoms herself, it would be no use to wait until morning to see the doctor herself. He would demand to see the patient himself, so he knew he wasn't wasting valuable medicine. Or he'd have to know of the patient himself to entrust Mary with the medicine. She couldn't very well tell the doctor a member of a gang that had arrived and was camped outside of town was in dire need of the medicine. Especially not with the way the deputies had been acting for the past couple days, patrolling the main roads and outskirts of town at all hours of the day and night.

No, there was only one way to get that medicine. It had to be done quickly and quietly, and it had to be done tonight, while it was still dark.

And it would take all the courage she could muster.


	5. 5

Arthur was gone all night and morning, searching for the herbs. He turned over every rock and twig, coming up with nothing. That afternoon he finally decided to head back to camp to see how Annabelle's illness had progressed.

When he approached camp, he saw that people were going about their business as usual, and something was off about it. They were even smiling, and he noticed the stress and tension had been replaced with relief.

While he was still on his horse, Hosea came running to greet him. "She got it! She got the medicine!"

"Who did?" Arthur asked.

"Mary. She got it. Stole it from the doctor's office. Snuck it in past the law, nursed Annabelle back to health. All while you were gone."

Arthur was stunned. "What?" He dismounted and rushed with Hosea towards the tent.

"She risked life, limb, and good name," Hosea said to him as they ducked into the tent.

Annabelle was sitting up in bed, slowly nursing a mug of broth, Dutch at her bedside. Arthur was relieved to see the color had returned to her face. He watched, amazed at her recovery.

"Her fever broke this morning, after Mary administered the herbs," Hosea said.

"She…stayed to do that?" Arthur said.

"Oh, yes," Hosea said. "Insisted she be the one to nurse her. She left a little while after the fever started coming down, said she wanted to make sure it was successful. Said she wanted to make sure there was nothing more she could do."

When Dutch noticed Arthur, he smiled. "Oh, Arthur!" he said as he came over to him. "Can you believe it?" He shook Arthur's hand as he said, "You thank her, again, from me."

Arthur nodded. As he looked into Dutch's eyes, he noticed how red they had been and the darkness that rimmed them from lack of sleep. And yet, a bright smile rested beneath them.

Dutch returned to Annabelle's bedside. But he pointed at Arthur. "You secure that woman, Arthur. Be good to her; don't you _ever_ let her get away." Looking back at Annabelle and taking her hand in both of his, his voice broke as he whispered, "She's an angel."

Arthur tried to take it all in. One thing he knew: he had to find Mary.

He looked at Hosea, who immediately smiled and nodded. "Go," he said.

Arthur knew just where she would be.

.

Once at the barn, he hitched his horse to the post and dismounted, taking his hat in his hand. He ran inside to find Mary leaning against a beam, reading. She looked up and set her book aside. Immediately their eyes locked.

What had she done? For Annabelle. For Dutch. What could bring her to risk herself like that? What had she done?

He searched for an answer in the eyes of the woman who stood before him, this awe-inspiring, selfless woman. And he saw it. The risk she had taken for a practical stranger. The love he couldn't understand. It was for him. It was all for him. And it was more than he could've asked for.

In a hazy cloud of emotions he set his hat on a post and stepped towards her, never taking his eyes off hers. _What have you done?_ was all he could think.

He gently touched the gap at the base of her neck. She looked at him with an expression that made him ache. He rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes, breathing her in—the fragrance of honeysuckle and lilac—so different from anyone else in his life. He felt her feather-light breath hitch as he gently kissed her on the mouth once, twice. Slowly and quietly he brushed his lips against hers, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. When she raised her chin in response to him, he deepened the kiss.

It didn't take long and she had her hands in his hair. His lips traveled down to her neck and back up to her mouth. With his left hand he unbuttoned the top few buttons of her frock and traced the top of her breast. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and her mouth was unwavering. She was returning his passion in kind. He brought his hand back up to her neck and kissed her with renewed resolve. Everything else in the world vanished. If he let himself, he could stay with her like this forever.

He reached down and gathered the fabric of her skirt, his fingers trailing up the soft cotton pantaloons in pursuit of their destination. He reached the hem of the opening in her breeches and felt the course tumble of hair. Just as the tip of his finger met with wetness and her mouth broke away to let out a breath, a pigeon flew out from the rafters and startled the two of them apart.

He immediately looked up in indignation at the god-forsaken foul. He was about to curse, but remembered who he was with. As the atmosphere settled, he turned back to Mary. Her face was redder than he could've thought natural for a human. Even so, with the afternoon sun breaking through the slats of the barn and through the particles of dust in the air, he could see that the flush on her face was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

But she wouldn't look at him. Everywhere else. She was looking everywhere else but at him. He stepped closer and finally she glanced in his direction. But just as quickly her eyes darted away. "Mary," he whispered. At his voice forming her name, her eyes met his. And he understood. Whereas just moments ago these eyes had been brimming with adoration, now they were flooded with a turbulent whirlpool of emotions, and he could see each one flicker across her eyes: shame, guilt, horrified embarrassment, fear. "_Mary_…" he said and reached out a hand. But she briskly left the barn.


	6. 6

Realizing she needed some time, Arthur did not contact Mary for a while. After a couple days, he returned to find her sitting atop the hitching rail outside the barn, her feet dangling. He went and hopped onto it to take the space beside her.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did," Arthur said and chuckled as he caught himself, "with words this time."

"I knew everything you felt when you looked at me," she said.

He nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. It was a connection they'd shared for a while. "How you been?" he said.

She sighed as she looked at the horizon, trying to bridle the goosebumps that spread over her whenever she thought about the other day. "A little dazed," she chuckled. "But I've missed you. I'd just…never kissed a man like that before. Never done anything like that before."

He shook his head. "To tell you the truth, I don't even know how it got that far."

"I do," she said.

Surprised, he looked over to see her grinning. He nudged her with his arm as he guffawed, "Naw! Get outta here!"

"Is it so surprising to think that I might want you as much as you want me?"

"A sweet, buttoned-up gal like you?" He scoffed. "I can tell you right now that ain't possible."

"Don't be so sure, cowboy," she said with a gleam in her eye. "All it takes is the right man—a good man—"

"I've never been accused of being one of them," he said.

"To light the embers that start a fire, even for a 'buttoned-up' gal like me," she smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. "It just amazes me that I let it escalate to that point. I've always been a person of certain convictions." She looked up at him and chuckled. "But strange things happen inside me when you come around, Arthur. I've never felt this way before about anybody." She turned towards him and rested her forearm across his leather-clad shoulder as he sat slumped in his usual manner. She reached back and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck until her forefinger rested on the soft space behind his ear. She watched as his eyes began to close at her touch. "God, I love you, Arthur Morgan," she whispered. "But I almost lost myself in you the other day. I can't abandon who I am."

"And I would never ask you to," he said. "I love who you are, just exactly the way you are. Convictions and propriety and all. I'm sorry about what happened."

"Don't say that," she whispered. "I'm not."

He looked at her and tried to keep from grinning. When he saw the earnest yearning in her eyes, he took her hand in his, and his expression turned pensive. "But no matter how desperately I want you, I do desire to honor you, Mary. I hope you know that."

"I know," she smiled. "And I know you love me. Which is why I know you'll understand when I say that if you love me, we'll need to refrain from touching the way we did until we're married."

His eyebrows shot up, and he smiled. "Are you proposing marriage, Mary Gillis?"

"I am."

He leaned in to kiss her, feeling her soft, full lips and the warmth of her tongue against his. She brought her hands up to rest on his chest. He slipped an arm around her waist bringing her closer, and he felt himself starting to lose his breath, starting to lose himself in the kiss.

He pulled away and sighed. "You know…" he said as he raised a hand to the back of his neck and began rubbing it fiercely, "I'm not so good with laws, Mary. I might need some practical help with this whole…waiting until marriage thing."

She smiled. "I trust you."

"Well then…maybe we should limit the number of kisses until we get married."

She smiled and nodded. "How about…three kisses each time we see each other?"

"Starting now?" he said.

She smiled brightly as she leaned in to kiss him. "One… Two…" she said with each new kiss.

For the first time in his life Arthur was glad he'd actually paid attention in school during the numbers part.

Midway through kiss number three, he leapt up off the hitching rail and took two big steps backward, coughing nervously. He pointed at the distance between them. "Mm…maybe we should stand a few feet apart from each other," he said from underneath his furrowed brows.

Mary laughed.


	7. 7

Mary looked at Arthur, the man she loved, standing before her in the early afternoon sun with hat in hand. She sighed, trying to compose herself. "Only thing left to do is tell daddy," she said.

"Yeah, I'm not lookin' forward to it," he said.

"Just be yourself. But…but maybe be a little less…rugged." She licked her thumb and ran it across a clump of hair that was persistently in his eyes.

He scrunched his face. "Leave me be, woman," he said waving her off. "Ain't no amount of primping from you or pandering from me gonna make daddy like me now," he chuckled sarcastically. "Best square up with that."

"Arthur," she grumbled. "I know he hasn't been kind to you, but…this is the most important time you'll ever see him. Just try to be amiable."

"Well _I_ will," Arthur said, "but I hope you told him the same."

Mary rolled her eyes as she turned to continue walking down the dirt path towards her family ranch, Arthur in tow.

They walked through the fence gate, and Arthur greeted Jamie as they passed. "Hey, Jamie! Watchya got there?"

"Hey, Arthur! A dog I found, named him Jeffrey. Pa's lettin' me keep 'im. Since I can't have a horse," he grumbled.

"Well, he's still an animal needs lookin' after. You take care of him. Hey, I'll take you riding sometime, if you like. Show you the ropes. If you're a good boy, that is."

"All right! Thanks, Arthur!" Jamie called as Mary and Arthur approached the homestead.

Arthur looked at the boy, then turned to see his father seated on the front porch, grimacing with his arms folded, looking down at both Arthur and Mary. "If your pa says it's all right," Arthur tried to add seamlessly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Gillis," Arthur said calmly, nodding to him.

"Arthur," he said brusquely.

"I hope you're well, sir."

"Was better a moment ago," he said as he stood and went to a small table.

"Daddy…" Mary said. "Please."

Mr. Gillis glanced at Arthur. "What can I do for you, Arthur?" he said as he turned to pour himself a drink.

"Well—" Arthur began.

"Daddy," Mary said stepping in front of Arthur, "Arthur and I have something we'd like to speak with you about."

With his back turned to them, Mr. Gillis cocked his head back and let out a long sigh. "He's a bandit, isn't he?"

Mary was tongue-tied at the assertion.

"Sweetheart, next time you bring a man to see your father, make sure he doesn't have a bandit's handkerchief hanging at the ready about his neck," he drawled, his tone dripping with disdain.

Mary looked back at Arthur who was looking down at the dual-purpose embellishment.

"You can't deny it, can you?" her father said.

Just then a man walked out from around the side of the house whom neither Mary nor Arthur had ever seen before, and Arthur's hand instinctively travelled to the iron on his belt. The man was clean-shaven and sturdy looking, and he carried a load of fence boards.

"Ah, Billy," Mr. Gillis said turning. "Perfect timing. Mary, Arthur, I'd like you to meet our new farmhand, Billy."

"Farmhand?" Mary said. "We haven't had one since before mama died."

"Well, I thought it was high time for one," her father said. "I can use some extra help around here. And what with all this talk in town of a rise in thievery and crime…" He paused. "You know, I thought I saw somethin' a number of nights ago out by the barn," he said shooting Arthur a sharp, icy stare before turning to pour himself another drink. "Thought we could use the extra security."

Mary tried to begin again on their previous course of discussion. "Daddy, I have somethin' real important I—"

Her father turned to look at the pair squarely. "You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Mary," he said as he drank from his glass. "After everything I've raised you to be, bringing home this filthy, rotten trash," he said gesturing with his glass. "I always knew there was something about him I didn't like, but the looks of him today confirms it."

"Daddy!" said Mary.

Arthur started forward involuntarily at the words, ready to defend his honor; but even in his anger he caught himself when he bumped into Mary's shoulder.

"And you," Mr. Gillis said lifting his index finger from the glass to point at Arthur, "best just stay away from her. For both of your own good. For if she follows you, you will surely drag her into the grave with you. And if you come near her? Well…I'll be sure to devise something that will send a clear message."

Arthur glared at him, and it took everything within him to turn and briskly walk away, knowing that every second he stayed, the risk increased that the encounter would not end pretty.

Mary was beyond words as she struggled to know how to mend the situation and bring the two of them together. She looked in Arthur's direction, glanced back at her father to see him sternly watching Arthur walk away, and she hurriedly went after Arthur.

"Arthur, wait!" she said running to catch up with him.

"Stop following me," he said quietly without turning. "Meet me at the drop."

* * *

"Couldn't you have taken it off?" Mary said walking up to Arthur when she finally got a chance to sneak away and meet up with him at their secret drop in the woods.

"You saw me beforehand, couldn't you have told me to take it off? Besides, would it have made a difference, Mary?" he said, his tone rising. "Would it have changed anything? Would it have changed who I am?"

His firm, true words stopped her in her tracks.

Frustrated, he shook his head and raised his hand to the back of his neck. "I don't know what to do. Your father is a problem, Mary," he grumbled.

"No, no," she said breathlessly. She went to him, cupping his face in her hands. "This changes nothing." She lowered her hands to his chest and looked up at him, trying to catch his gaze. "It doesn't, all right? We're going to be married just the same, with or without him."

He finally looked her in the eyes. "But…?"

She nodded and swallowed, knowing she couldn't keep anything from him. "I would like my father's blessing. Just like any woman."

He sighed and let his head fall back.

"I haven't given up," she said. "I think I can get him to come around."

He shook his head. "He's never going to come around, Mary. You saw the look in his eyes. He just about prefers me dead in the ground!"

"If his daughter can love you," she said steadying him, "so can he."

He tried not to be drawn into the look in her adoring eyes and pleading expression.

"I just need time," she said.

Finally, he said, "Fine. But I ain't goin' round your place no more. At least for the time being."

"My thoughts exactly. I had no idea daddy would ever hire someone to patrol the ranch."

"Yeah, well…" Arthur said cocking his head. "I heard rumblings there's a rival gang shown up near the area—real bad folk. He doesn't look like a bad character. Might actually be good for you to have another man on the property right now. Since I can't be there with you."

"As long as you feel all right about it, and as long as we can still meet away from home," Mary said.

He nodded. "Of course."

She came close, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. With her face towards him, she said, "As long as you haven't given up on me."

He brought his hand to her back and held her tight. "Never."

.

"If I never would have held your hand,

if you never would have called my name,

Mary, maybe I could move along,

But I could never forget.

Baby, you're wrong if you're thinkin' I would ever wanna leave.

Baby, this ain't gonna be the last that you see of me."

\- Wilder Woods, "Mary You're Wrong"


	8. 8

Mary read aloud from _A Tale of Two Cities_, her nose between the pages: "'When he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it.'" She and Arthur were sitting in the shade of a large oak tree that grew solitary in the midst of a field.

She continued reading as Arthur listened. "'"Do you particularly like the man?" he muttered, at his own image; "why should you particularly like a man who resembles you? There is nothing in you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you! What a change you have made in yourself! A good reason for taking to a man, that he shows you what you have fallen away from, and what you might have been! Change places with him, and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was, and commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come on, and have it out in plain words! You hate the fellow."'"

"This poor guy's gotta grow a pair and go out and get that gal," Arthur interrupted.

Mary's eyebrows shot up as she looked at him. "H-how could you possibly know that? We haven't gotten there yet," she said, choosing to disregard his coarse reference.

He looked her square in the face. "There are only so many reasons to hate a man, Mary," he said as he began to count, starting with his thumb. "He killed your girl, he _stole_ your girl, or he stole your money." He leaned back as he said confidently, "It usually branches off of one of those three. Now she ain't nobody's girl yet, but you take my meaning. It's pretty clear she's intended for the other guy, and this one hates his guts for it because he loves her."

Mary blinked. "It's a little more complicated than that, but yes, that's one of the main issues in this scene."

He smirked at her. "See? Whoever said we gruff outlaws couldn't reason through the great works of literature."

"_I_ never doubted you, remember that," she smiled.

"Sure! Only were surprised," he mocked.

"No! I just…well, I guess I can say I'm impressed you caught on to this line of the plot so early."

He smiled. "Keep going. I like this character Carton. He's a biting, sarcastic fool."

"Well, I think it's your turn to read," she said passing him the book.

"All right," he said confidently as he took it.

Arthur and Mary continued reading, taking turns back and forth. The two had arrived there at dawn, along with Arthur's horse, who was grazing lazily beside the tree. Every once in a while they would switch positions to keep comfortable, though Arthur usually adopted a reclining position when he wasn't reading.

When it was Mary's turn once again to read, she began to perform different voices for each character.

"'"I am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry,"'" Mary read as she lied with her head resting on Arthur's torso. Arthur was reclining with his hands cradling the back of his head. "'"Oh dear me!"' cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously. "Oh dear me, sir?" repeated Stryver, drawing back. "Oh dear you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?"'"

Mary felt Arthur's stomach tighten and bobble and heard him quietly snicker as she went on. "'"Well! I–Were you going there now?" asked Mr. Lorry. "Straight!" said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk. "Then I think I wouldn't, if I was you." "Why?" said Stryver... "Because," said Mr. Lorry, "I wouldn't go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed." "_Damn ME!_" cried Stryver."'"

Arthur's stomach roiled now, as he succumbed to his hearty, rolling laughter. Mary sat up and looked at him with a smile.

"I imagine this guy is a fat, pompous ass," Arthur laughed.

"He's the same in my imagination," Mary said.

Arthur cackled, "I never thought I'd hear you utter a curse word, Mary!"

Mary smiled and tried not to go red. "Stryver said it," she said sheepishly.

He looked at her with bright eyes, taking in the flush that spread over her face and the pleasant smile that accompanied it.

"Your turn," she said, handing him the book.

"Oh, none could compare to your knack for theatrics, madame," he said holding up a hand.

"Take the damn book, Arthur!" she said, and he burst out into raucous laughter again.

They continued taking turns reading. At one point when Mary had the book, she was lying on her stomach, propping herself up on her forearms, with her bare feet swaying up in the air behind her. It distracted Arthur, and he began to stroke the soles of her feet and play with her toes.

"Arthur!" she said, lightly kicking him away.

"Mary…" he said softly, and went to kiss her.

"Don't…" she said trying not to giggle, "don't say my name like that, Arthur. It's dangerous."

"I ain't sayin' it no particular way!" he said conspicuously. "That's your name, ain't it?"

"You know what you're doing, Arthur," she said leveling her gaze at him.

He sat back against the tree and folded his arms.

They continued reading into the afternoon, enjoying the book and the company. Finally, Arthur read the final line of the novel. He read slowly, allowing the gravity of the moment to sink in: "'"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."'"

Arthur stared at the page.

Mary sniffed, wiping tears from her eyes. "Greater love has no man, that he lays down his life for his friend," Mary said shakily and sighed. "I can never get over that ending.

"Didn't know the old boy had it in him," Arthur said soberly.

Arthur closed the back cover of the book with a _plop_, and Mary noticed he had a thin rim of glistening tears edging their way to the surface under his eyes. She came over to sit next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. "You've officially read a 'full book'," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Wretched," he said immediately, and they chuckled in spite of themselves. He looked over at her on his shoulder and said quietly, "Thank you."

She brought her hand to his right cheek as she kissed his left, and they leaned back against the tree.

Arthur looked down into his lap, and she followed his gaze to see he was holding a ring between his fingers. She hadn't even noticed him go into his pocket. It was a thin gold band with a small garnet adorning it.

"This was my mother's. Little good it ever did her, bless her. But…maybe it'll be good luck for you and me," he said. He slid it onto her ring finger and laced his fingers through hers.

"Oh, Arthur…" she said and threw her arms around him. She felt him hold her tight and nestle his chin over the crook in her shoulder. Drawing back, she kissed him passionately on the lips, bringing her fingers through his hair. She felt him deepen the kiss, lowering her onto her back.

Suddenly, he bolted upright. "Wait a damn minute…" he said. "You're not bein' fair with me. You can't expect me to hold firm to your boundaries when you keep toyin' with 'em. I object; it's cruel! I thought I was doing pretty well too, what with you lying so close to me and all. But I can't do so well if you keep temptin' me," he said with a wry smile.

Mary was stunned, at both her failure to hold fast to her own commitment and Arthur's ability to so clearly articulate himself. "I s'pose you're right," she said. "I apologize."

"Never thought you'd be the one to be more of a problem," he grumbled jokingly.

"I truly didn't mean to put you in a precarious position, Arthur. I just…I get carried away," she said.

When he saw her downcast expression, he said, "Ah, don't worry. I know it's hard for us both." He muttered under his breath, "Just means we should probably get married sooner rather than later."

She yawned and said, "How about a nice, chaste nap?"

"That sounds nice. If you can keep it that way."

She came to lie beside him as he stretched his arm out to act as her pillow.

* * *

They awoke in late afternoon to the sound of birds warbling in the branches above them.

"We oughta get back," he said getting up and going to his horse. "Wish I could ride you home."

She nodded, knowing it was for the best that she walk.

As he began to get on his horse, he caught a glimpse of her relaxed smile underneath strands of her unkempt hair—still beautiful in the orange light of the summer sun. He knew the feel of her lips, but wanted reminding. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her once, briefly.

He rested his forehead on hers, soaking in the nearness of her. "I cannot wait to be married to you," he said. He drew back and looked into her eyes. "I want to kiss every inch of you. Every inch."

After a moment, her eyes went wide. She gasped and swatted him. "_Arthur!_"

He chuckled and lighted his horse. Looking back to see her smile as he rode off, he said, "Every inch. That's a promise!"


	9. 9

Early one morning Mary was awakened in her bed by the sound of a hushed commotion happening somewhere in the house. She followed the noise to her father's room.

"You'll wake Jamie. What's going on?" she said groggily as she came to his bedroom door.

He paused for a moment, then his expression became stony. "What's going on?" he said in a whisper. "Oh, I'll show you what's going on. Follow me out to the barn."

"What?"

"Just come," he said sternly.

Confused and still in her nightgown, she followed her father outside for the long walk through the crisp morning air, across the property to the barn. She noticed that her father had grabbed his cap and pistol from the house.

When they came up to the door of the barn, her father stopped and turned to her. "Go ahead," he said blankly, motioning inside.

She studied his expression, then eyed the pistol in his hand at his side. Becoming anxious, she slowly entered the barn.

What she saw was Billy's motionless body lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Her breath caught and she held her mouth, trying not to scream. She took a few timid steps towards the body as her father walked into the barn. It was apparent he had been stabbed in the gut.

"Poor, unfortunate bastard," her father said standing over Billy. "I had expected to find him already working the grounds this morning, but he was nowhere to be found. Now I know why. Looks to me like someone got the jump on him and robbed him last night. He hasn't got a thing of proper worth on him, not even the pocket watch I've seen him take out."

Mary shook her head as she looked at Billy's open, empty eyes, frozen in time. A cold tremble ran down her back, and she shivered as her mind went to what those eyes might have seen in their last living moments.

"Now you see," her father said. "Finally, now, after the loss of life, you see the truth. Why you need to stay away from that horrid monster."

Mary looked up at him. It was now clear that her father had a different idea of what Billy's eyes had seen at the last. She scrunched her face in shock and disgust at the notion. "How could you think he could do something so egregious?!" she said.

"Oh, I don't know, because he's an outlaw!" her father shot back. "And because Billy was one of the only things standing in his way of you!"

She stopped short at the statement, uncertain how to best respond. Her father took the pause as at least partial concession.

"It's awfully convenient, isn't it?" he said slowly. "He would be utilizing his only talents and making his path to you clear."

She thought about how she wished she'd been with Arthur yesterday evening; she wouldn't have hesitated to expose their continued meetings to clear his name. "I'm not willing to accuse him for something so horrible when I don't know any of the facts," she said firmly.

"Daughter, wake up! Why are you defending him?" He paused. "Are you still connected to him in some way?" His eyes ran over her face and finally held her gaze in search of a chink in her armor. For the briefest moment, her eyes faltered. "I _knew_ it!" he yelled. "How could you?!"

"Because I love him," she said. "As long as I live, Daddy, I swear to you, that will never change."

He turned towards her, his gaze cold as the lifeless body on the ground. "Is this the life you want?" He didn't expect her to offer an answer, and he didn't wait for one. "Is this the kind of man you want to marry? A man who takes life without a second thought? A man whose very nature is to do harm—"

"You don't know he did this."

"And you're foolin' yourself. Depravity is his lifeblood." He stepped towards her. "Is this the kind of man you're prepared to give your heart and soul to?"

She swallowed and boldly met his eyes. "It's too late for that, Daddy."

He shook his head. "And you love him." He looked at her, and his gaze softened. "A man who would rather sell his soul for a silver dollar than find out what treasure in this life cannot be held with hands. He will die with abundance or in destitution—most likely the latter—but either way, he will come to the end of his life and find that he is abandoned and bankrupt in that most precious currency which truly makes a man rich. The irony is he will slaughter as many innocents as it takes to get there. All that awaits you in his world is a trail of heartache and devastation. Forgive me if I hate him." He almost spat as he said it and walked past her. "You just ask him. Pay attention to his answer."

She turned after him. "Ask him what: if he did this, or if he's the kind of man you think he is?"

At her question, her father stopped and looked to his side. After a few seconds, he continued and left without another word.


	10. 10

"Call out to me all you can,

I'll never look back.

I am a man whose soul

got caught in the tracks."

– Needtobreathe, "Disaster Road"

As soon as the law came, took the body, and went, Mary left a note in their secret drop telling Arthur to meet her at the barn as soon as possible, in the imperative, and requesting that he leave his horse far enough behind that he would attract absolutely no attention when he approached the barn.

She had to see his reaction for herself when he saw the scene where Billy had been killed. When Arthur arrived, she was ready and waiting for him.

"What's going on?" he said.

She quickly took him inside the barn.

"Are you sure it's all right for me to be here?" he said. "Can't imagine why you had me come here, of all places. Must be important."

"Look there," she said pointing.

He followed her finger to a large red stain in the dirt, something he was not unaccustomed to. "Sweet Jesus," he mumbled to himself, throwing his head back. "Who died?" he groaned and looked at her, hoping it wasn't her young brother.

"Billy, daddy's new hand," she said. "And he didn't just die. He was killed. Stabbed in the night. Right here."

"Oh," Arthur said looking down at the stain. He gave his head a single shake. "Poor miserable bastard." He lifted his head to see Mary peering at him.

Mary tried to appear calm, but her frustration at the entire situation began to needle its way out. She started to fold her arms, but thought better of it. "Where were you last night?" she asked.

It took just a moment, and Arthur caught her meaning. "Wha— You think _I…?_" He pointed to his own chest.

"I'm not certain of anything anymore, Arthur," she said throwing her hands down. "I have to ask. There's going to be an inquiry anyway; and if I know my father at all, he will make sure your name comes up. Best you tell me the truth now, and we get the air clear between us. Where were you last night?" she said more firmly.

"Mary," he shook his head. "You gotta know I didn't do this. Why would I? And lose you? Why would I take that risk?"

"My father seemed to be of the opinion that you'd think it'd be in your best interest in that regard."

"Oh, so he's been whisperin' in your ear now, has he? Poisoning you, turnin' you against me?!"

"He's always been against you, Arthur. Don't you think if he could turn me, he would've done it by now?"

He paused and gave a small nod. "Well, I guess that's true." He squinted his eyes in annoyance and derision. "If I really wanted to get rid of the guy, do you honestly think I'd leave the body around? Come on, Mary, I've got more of a brain than that."

"Why won't you answer me? Just tell me where you were!"

"You don't wanna know," he said quietly.

"Oh, I do!" she yelled.

"Look, let me make it real simple for you," he said, his tone rising. "I wasn't here! I did not kill him!" He shook his head. "That's the truth." When she didn't immediately respond, he pursued the matter. "I did _not_ do that!" he said, raising his eyebrows and pointing toward the dried pool of blood in the dirt where Billy's lifeless body had been. "Look, if we really wanted to rob a ranch, we wouldn't stop at one ranch hand."

"Arthur!" she whined, not wanting to hear anymore.

He continued over her voice, "And we'd take our guns. The threat of a gun alone usually does it. We'd make sure it was quick and clean-like. This was done in the dead of night, with a knife. Coulda been one of them in that other gang moved in recently, I don't know. But that was not me. Look at me." He paused with a look that arrested her, "I did _not_ kill him."

Mary looked into his eyes and saw what she believed to be the truth. But she had a nagging feeling that it was not the whole truth. She lifted her chin slightly as she kept her eyes on him.

Arthur continued, "I swear to you, I did not kill him." His eyes darted away from her gaze. He cleared his throat and squinted his eyes, and his expression slid to one side. "But I have done…_similar_ things." He watched as Mary's eyes went wide, and her expression went vacant. He struggled to recapture her attention. When he did, he saw what reminded him of a startled fawn. "What'd you think being an outlaw was?!" he yelled. "You think people give us their cash willingly?!"

Mary's jaw slowly fell agape, and her eyebrows knitted together in a pained expression. Still, she wouldn't quite look at him.

He did everything he could to try to snap her out of it—even taking her by the arms and shaking her—to no avail. He started to panic. "Mary, come on," he moaned. "It's me here! You're safe, you know that!"

Finally she blinked, and her eyes began to glisten. "I…uh…" she whispered, her voice raspy. "I need to, uh…" She began to step away from him, her footing faltering for a moment.

He caught her by the forearm, steadying her. "Don't do this to me now, Mary," he said, his concern for both her and their relationship mingled in his voice.

She blinked hard, as if she couldn't see much of anything. Finally she shook her head and stabled herself. "I have to go, Arthur." She turned her head to look at him, and he saw the pain etched on her face. "I can't be here. I need…I have to go."

He was at a loss as he watched her walk away again.


	11. 11

"So excuse me, darlin',

while my heart explodes.

I'm in the cage I've chosen

'cause it feels like home."

\- Needtobreathe, "Disaster Road"

Arthur wasted no time in contacting Mary; he left a note in the drop the next day. When she failed to meet him that evening at their oak tree, he tried to chalk it up to her inability to get away. He left notes in the drop each day for the next few days, becoming anxious. When he went to leave a note on the fourth day, every one of his recent notes fell out into his hand.

Anger, confusion, frustration, and fear flooded him all at once. He both dreaded and hoped that perhaps she was terribly ill or injured, rather than what his rational mind was telling him. He could feel her slipping away from him.

He immediately mounted his horse and set off for her family's ranch. When he got there, Mary's father immediately came out of the door, preventing him from accessing the front porch or going any further.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" her father slurred. It was immediately clear he'd been drinking, and too much this time.

"I've gotta see her," Arthur said.

"You've got some nerve! You just take yourself off my land, before I take you off," her father grumbled.

"Please—" Arthur began, thinking he'd need to try to communicate how desperate he was without explaining that he hadn't seen or heard from Mary in over two days, which was highly unusual, but just then Mary stepped through the front door.

"Arthur?" she said.

"Mary," he sighed when he saw her.

Her father stumbled back inside.

Arthur continued, "I thought you might be hurt or—"

"You shouldn't be here," she said quietly but firmly.

The similarity of her words to her father's caught him off guard, and his brows knitted together as he looked at her with confused, pleading eyes.

She blinked and frowned, but held his gaze. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly shaky. "Please. Leave."

Arthur's jaw fell as he studied her, trying to understand. Mary mouthed the words _at the drop_ and nodded to him.

Right then her father came stomping through the front door with his shotgun in hand. Arthur raised his open hands.

"You get the hell off my property!" her father shouted. He leveled his stare at him. "If I ever see you back here, I'll blow your goddamn head clean away! See if I don't!"

Arthur clenched his jaw and slowly backed away.

* * *

"I'm sorry I've been hard to pin down," she said to Arthur when they were standing alone in the woods. "You deserve answers."

"You betchyer daddy's shot glass I do," he said. "Mary, you let me worry the most horrible things!"

"I know! I'm so sorry! It's just…daddy's been so volatile lately, and...with your admission the other day, I've been…thinking."

"Oh yeah? What about? You know that never got anyone any good," he said, trying to lighten the mood. But the look in her eyes told him his efforts hadn't changed anything. Or everything had changed. For once, he couldn't tell what she was thinking by her eyes. He needed her to open her damn mouth. He felt his stomach go queasy. "Mary, you're scarin' me here."

"Arthur..." she groaned. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about this."

"About what, damnit! Out with it!"

"About us! About you and me! About how this is possibly going to work!"

It was exactly what he didn't want to hear. "Wha…what are you saying? You sayin' you don't wanna marry me no more?"

"I'm saying…" She looked like she was about to vomit. "Ugh, I'm sayin'… I had no idea you could commit such heinous and brutal atrocities, Arthur! I didn't realize you had it in you. I knew you to be a kind man, a good man."

"And what if I'm not the man you thought I was? What if I'm not a good man? What of your love then? Is it truly strong and steadfast? Or is it flimsy, rather?"

"It's not that simple, Arthur!"

"And it's not that difficult, is it? To be as good as you? I'm not you, Mary."

She frowned. "Stop mocking me, Arthur. I never claimed to be high and mighty. And it wouldn't take much for you to change."

"It does when you've lived the way I have, for as long as I have."

"But don't you see? You already have a good heart. You just have influences in your life that are taking you down a wrong path, a cold and malicious path. All I'm asking is that you choose right. And I'll be here when you do, but not before."

He was stunned. "You can't ask me to give up everything I know, the people who raised me, my family."

"I can, and I am," she said sternly.

He waved his hands in exasperation. "Can we—" he sighed, shaking his head. "Look, can we just go back to where we started? Please?"

"Arthur," she sighed. "I wish I could go back and un-learn what I know, but I can't. We're here. You'll always be my friend. I know you've wanted marriage as much as I do. But marriage is not just fanciful feelings and making love," she said. "It's walking through life together, through the good and the bad, the rough and the joyful seasons. It's committing yourself to one another, wholly and completely."

"I know that," he said indignantly. "I want everything you just said and more. I never planned on this. I never planned on marryin' anybody. But then you came along, Mary, and you—you just… This is a good thing, Mary. This is good love. This is the kind of thing that only happens to a person once in their lifetime. I've been around long enough to recognize it when I see it."

"Oh, Arthur. We just…we never gave a thought to how this would work."

"Slow down. Now, hear me out. Holding your hand when you're ill," he said taking her hand and looking into her eyes, "protecting and providing for someone who loves me just as much as I love her, a chance to grow old together, a chance to watch our children and grandchildren grow. For me, that only works with you." His desperation began to show as he gestured firmly with his hands. "That only happens, in my life, with you. Do you understand? Don't take that away from me."

"But you want both, and it doesn't work that way, Arthur."

"Well, you want everything to fit in a nice, neat box, and it don't work that way neither."

She sighed. "You can't live the way you do and have a family." She looked at him as he looked away. "How are we going to sustain a marriage while we only see each other once every several days, if that? How are we going to raise children if most of the time you're off god knows where, doing god knows what? Coming back to them after having your hands in some poor innocent's blood? I won't have it, Arthur."

"Well, obviously you'd come live on the road with me," he said.

She froze. "That's where you're wrong," she said firmly. "I will never support your way of life. I will _never_ take part in what you do."

"Come on, Mary, you won't have to," he said. "There's women in the gang who don't hurt people; they just steal a little here and there to support themselves." He eyed her as he said quietly, "You've already done that once, I believe." He lifted his chin and peered down at her. His voice became distant and heavy as he said, "I won't hold it against you."

The cool breeziness of his words flew like a mist down her back. How quickly he had forgotten the reason she'd done it. She was beginning to see how callous and unforgiving Arthur could be.

"You're missing my point," she said. "Everything I've said is to say that I cannot be the wife to…" She caught sight of his clenching jaw. "I cannot stand by while you ruin, destroy, and take lives. Much less be your wife while you do it. I refuse."

"Oh, you and your precious morals, Mary! Ain't everything in the world so black and white! Ain't a pretty truth, but it's the truth, just as sure as I'm standing here! From the first moment I can remember, I've been doing what it takes to survive. Ain't had the milk of mother's kindness to guide me! Or maybe it'd be better for everyone if I never had been born! 'S that what you'd prefer?"

"No, no! Of course not, Arthur! Don't make me out to be a villain! I never said such a thing!" She stepped closer and gently took his face in her hands. "Your life is very, very precious to me, Arthur. That will never change."

She searched his eyes, looking for some semblance of the sorrow she felt, rather than his fiery anger. She looked down and shut her eyes tight, trying to even her breathing, but it was no use. She'd have to say it through the tears. She looked back up at him, and her lips trembled as she said slowly, "Oh, Arthur. You're forcing me to choose between the heartbreak of living with what might've been, and the heartbreak of a murdering husband." Her tears came in unrelenting torrents now. "With such choices, what decision do you expect me to make?" She sniffed and shook her head, taking a step back from him and letting her hands fall to her sides. "I think it would be best for us both if…if our engagement were quietly forgotten."

"_No_," he whispered through a ragged breath, balling his fist. "No, see, I can't just do that. I can't forget."

"Arthur, _please!_" she cried. "This is not easy for me. As long as I live, I will love you, Arthur." She reached out a hand to him. "That's what hurts most—"

"_Don't_," he snapped, "touch me. Don't you touch me."

She blinked, and her eyes went wide at the frightening realization of just how wounded and angry he was. He looked away and shook his head; and she watched as he seethed, his jaw clenching. When he turned back to her, he had a thicker rim of tears at the bottom of his eyes than she'd ever seen on him.

"I would've given myself to you," he said. "Totally and completely. But that's just it, ain't it?" He shook his head. "I'm not enough." He took a step back. "And I never will be. Will I?"


	12. 12

"I should have seen this comin'

a million miles ago.

I've been blindly runnin'

down disaster road."

– Needtobreathe, "Disaster Road"

.

Arthur was walking down the boardwalk of a town called Oak Hills scoping out heist opportunities when he caught a glimpse of Mary from a ways off. It had been over two months since he'd last seen her, and he'd been sure at that time that he'd probably never see her again.

But there she stood. As beautiful as ever. And his heart was yanked right back into the tangled mess he'd begun trying to work himself out of over two months ago. It was as if a load of bricks had been dropped on him.

She hadn't noticed him, and he was thankful. He watched her smile as she walked down the boardwalk in his direction with a squat older woman, and his thoughts drifted to all they'd brought each other through—all she'd put him through. He thought again about the irony that even though he and his lot were considered indecent society, his whole family had accepted her with open arms—while her one family member that mattered had rejected him.

Just then that buffoon Linton strode up to the two women, and Arthur darted into the alleyway between the two buildings. He pressed himself up against the wall and peered around the corner to watch the exchange, though Mary had her back to him.

"Ah, Mr. Linton!" the other woman began. "Fancy seeing you so far from Moffett Landing! I'm so pleased to hear the happy news! Mary was just telling me about your upcoming nuptials. How splendid for the two of you!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Franklin. I couldn't be happier," he said as he took Mary's hand in both of his.

"We're in Oak Hills just now to have our measurements taken," Mary said quietly.

"Yes!" Linton said. "I heard this town has the best tailor for miles! I'll have the best suit—to go with my own best hat, of course." He smiled absurdly and touched the brim of his top hat.

"Well, I'm sure you'll look dapper no matter what, Mr. Linton." Turning to Mary, she said, "You're a very lucky young lady."

"Thank you, Mrs. Franklin," Mary said quietly, dipping her head.

"Well, I'll leave you two to run your errands. Best wishes to you both on this new journey together!" the woman said as she began crossing the street. "Enjoy every minute!"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Franklin!" Linton waved. "Lovely woman," he said to himself. "She's always been a lovely woman." Turning to Mary, he said, "I wanted to run to the post office, send my cousin a post card. He collects them, and I don't think he has one from Oak Hills yet. I'll meet you at the tailor's, darling?"

"Yes," she said, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek before heading across the street.

Mary turned and began walking in Arthur's direction, but not before he ducked his head back behind the wall.

He shut his eyes tight as the air seemed to grow heavy and crush in on him. He would truly never be able to call himself her husband, never be welcome to share in the warmth of her bed, never hold their child in his arms.

Overcome with rage, jealousy, and frustration, he grabbed Mary by the forearm as she passed and pulled her into the alley.

Her eyes went wide when she saw him. "Arthur!" she whispered, pressing her back up against the wall. "What are you doin' here?"

"You're marryin' _him?_" he yelled. "You're just tryin' to spite me!"

"Arthur Morgan!"

"You are!" he shouted fiercely. "It's the only thing that makes any _goddamn sense!_"

A quick, icy blow came across his cheek. He turned back to see her steely gaze.

"Don't you dare," she said, her bottom lip trembling. "Don't you dare lay all this at my feet. You wouldn't even consider giving up a life of crime, your heinous acts, even murder! Oh, Arthur. Can you see no part of this that was your own doing? You always shirk the blame onto someone else; it's a habit you can't break. It's so bad, you can't even see that you do it."

He stepped back and started pacing as if he couldn't stand to hear.

"You and you alone are responsible for your actions, Arthur!" she said. "Same as anybody. And nothing can change that. Truth is, you have a choice, and you always have. You choose the wrong one every time. This isn't any different. You're choosing a life of crime, murder, and destruction over me—"

He stopped and glared at her, shooting back swiftly and sharply: "Maybe the only wrong choice I ever made was loving you."

When he saw the way his caustic words hit her, he softened. He sighed and looked down, shaking his head. He looked back up at her, coming so close he could see the individual lashes on each eye. He rested a hand on the wall behind her. As he looked at her, he saw his own turmoil reflected in the golden flecks of her brown eyes.

He began slowly and calmly: "There ain't a lot I know for sure in this world. But this I know, without a doubt: we loved once, and true." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "There weren't nothing in this world that could've separated us. Until you _chose_ to do so." He watched as the expression in her eyes flickered from frustration and anger to anguish and sorrow. He raised a pointed finger at her face. "You stay the hell away from me, Mrs. Linton," he said. "You've doomed us both to carry this for the rest of our lives."

.

"You loved me—then what _right_ had you to leave me? What right—answer me—for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart—_you_ have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine."

– Heathcliff to his soulmate Cathy on her deathbed, years after she had married Edgar Linton. Emily Bronte, _Wuthering Heights_


	13. An Excerpt from Arthur's Journal

_ She's blessed and cursed me with memories of her. The way she could look me dead in the eyes for hours and never look away, never flinch or budge—not like everybody else. The way she smiled and laughed. The way my chest felt light and airy when she came round. The way she sighed when I kissed her. The way she accepted me for who I was. Really accepted me. Until she didn't no more._

_ I had her, and like a wisp she's gone. I still can't quite work through how what we had was dissolved so quickly and easily. God almighty, I don't know what more I could have done. Would have sworn we'd have seen each other through the worst of it, through hell or high water. If it were up to me, we would have. Thought that's what love was. But I guess you can only hold on to somebody so tight. If they don't want you, if they don't hold on to you right back, there ain't nothing you can do. You have to open your hands._

_ It just hurts like nothing I've ever known. Not anything in my life so far was like this. Losing ma, living through pa, making it on my own. Nothing comes close. I don't need to learn this lesson again. I can only hope I never know another love._

*END PART 1*


	14. Part 2: Isaac & Eliza

Winter of 1893

Arthur slowed his horse to a trot as he approached Deer Head Ranch—the ranch he'd bought with his own money six years ago when he found out he had a newborn son. Even in winter, this was a land with no snow—just the way he liked.

He pulled to a stop as the child, now six years old, looked up from his play things on the front porch and saw him. Arthur wondered to himself how many times he could look into the face of his son and turn away again. Wondered how many times he was built to take it. Before it ripped him apart.

"Mama?" he heard Isaac call inside as he dismounted.

"Isaac, come on inside; it's a little too cold this morning. Come—" As soon as Eliza stepped outside and saw him, her breath caught.

"Mama, Arthur's here."

Arthur peered up at her from beneath the brim of his hat. "Hello, Eliza."

She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes to make sure she was seeing true. When she realized she was, she blinked. "Arthur, come inside. I can see your breath. You too, Isaac." She looked down at her son. "Come on. Inside," she said with a tilt of her head towards the door.

Isaac left his things and scurried inside. Eliza began to follow him, until Arthur made it to the door.

For a moment they were both there, standing just outside the threshold looking at each other—a moment that seemed to last for minutes as he stepped past her and slid into the door, slid into their lives again. His eyes flashed at her like bright blue jewels. And it was that easy.

As he entered the house she let out a breath and hung her hopes like she hung her head.

Arthur removed his hat and coat and addressed Isaac, who sat at the table. "You remember me?"

"'Course I remember you, Arthur. You were supposed to finish your story about the buried treasure when you came back, but…you never came back."

"Well, I'm here now, ain't I? Reckon I can finish that story for you tonight after supper, in front of the fire. How's that sound?"

"Great! Only…" Isaac looked away, and Arthur followed his gaze to the scant pile of kindling by the fireplace. "We don't have much wood right now."

"That don't seem right. I can fix that." Arthur picked up the leather tote by the hearth, donned his coat again, and headed for the front door.

"What?" Eliza said as Arthur left. She looked at Isaac. "Wait here. Stay inside, I mean it." She followed Arthur outside. "Arthur, it's early morning. You just got here. Can't the chopping…wait? You've been gone so long, and come so many miles, I'm sure. Won't you sit and…talk?"

"I'll get it done, and you'll have firewood. There a problem?" he said.

Exasperated, she dropped her hands.

He smirked. "I won't be long." He grabbed the hatchet that was propped against a stump and headed for the tree line behind the house.

About an hour later, he was dumping a load of stripped logs and dry twigs next to the fireplace. Eliza was frying potato cakes at the stove. Isaac was nowhere to be seen.

Arthur began to ask, "Where's—"

"He's in his room practicin' writin' his letters," she said continuing her task. "Come sit. You must be exhausted."

"It wasn't much work," he said taking a chair at the end of the table.

"Good, but that's not what I meant." She put a plate of potato cakes and eggs in front of him.

He took her meaning and tried not to look up at her as she sat in the chair adjacent to him.

She put her hands around a mug of coffee and watched as he started eating. In the past he had made sure to come by for a few days once every three months, at least. The last couple years he'd gradually stayed away for longer each time before returning.

"Been so many months since you were here last, I started to think we'd never see you again," she finally said.

He swallowed. "I was…in a bind for while. It's a bit of a long story."

"I'd like to hear it."

"No," he said promptly, "it's not the kind of thing you want to hear."

Knowing it was futile to pursue it, she decided to let it go and sat back in her chair. She watched the eddies of steam rise in spinning swirls from her mug. "Seems like more and more time between your visits."

He sighed. "Of all the things I am, I'm a man of my word. I told you I'd do what I can to take care of you, be here as much as I can. But it ain't much. And that's for your own benefit. You know that."

"I know."

"I don't wanna go through this again," he said, letting his fork clank against the plate as he sat back in his chair, still chewing on a mouthful of food.

"I know." She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped the coffee past the lump in her throat. "We—" her eyes fluttered down. "He misses you. That's all."

"He hardly knows me."

"That's no fault of his."

"Well, it's probably a good thing, anyway."

She looked at him as he continued eating, seemingly without any further thought to what he'd just said. _How can you honestly believe that?_ she thought. She glanced at the door of her son's room and tried not to let herself venture down the deep dark well that she sat in for hours when she thought about him growing up fatherless. She looked back at the mug in her hands. "I'm sure you'd like a hot bath." She stood. "I'll fix one up for you."

He immediately stood. "I can help bring the water in," he said.

"Oh, it's no trouble," she waved him down. "Sit and finish eating."

"No, really. I don't want to cause you any more work than you'd normally…"

With his back turned to her, Arthur's attention was suddenly snagged by the Christmas tree in the corner. He stepped towards it and gazed at the ornaments and the string of popping corn wrapped around it. She watched as he touched the dangling red felt stars, lingering where he stood, seemingly enthralled.

When he spoke, his words were slow, and he almost sounded dazed: "Didn't even realize it was Christmastime. You know how long it's been since I saw Christmas things? Even thought about Christmas?" She saw his head shake gently, and he looked up at the top of the tree. He chuckled hazily, "Must've been about Isaac's age."

How winsome, how heartbreakingly childlike he could be with just a few words. And only she knew it in the whole wide world. And she grieved for the child that he'd been, the child that was shown the darkness in the world—how ugly it could be—all too early. The child that had had his kin ripped from him, and became starved for loving-kindness. The child that had been deceived by miscreants into devoting loyalty for a lie. She could see it all.

"That's pretty young to leave behind Christmas," she said. He nodded as he began to turn towards her, as if awakened from a daydream. His eyes were just coming up to meet hers as she said, "A long time to go without joy."

When their eyes met he paused, and his scoff was a mingling of spite and ache: "Not sure I ever knew what that was."


	15. 15

"Well, don't you look dapper as a preacher man," Eliza said when Arthur came to the supper table that evening bathed and clean-shaven.

He scoffed and shot her a sardonic look.

"Whistle-clean!" Isaac said. "That's what mama always calls me after a bath."

Arthur smiled as he took a seat beside Isaac at the table.

After supper, Isaac sat on the floor listening to Arthur finish his buried-treasure story, just as he said he would. Every now and again Eliza would look up from her sewing and smile at Arthur's extravagant embellishments and the reactions they elicited from her young imaginer.

Before long, Isaac was beginning to drift off. When Eliza noticed it, she set down her needle work.

Arthur waved her off. "I'll put him to bed."

She watched him gently lift and carry their son to his room and into his bed, where she heard Isaac wake and require a retelling of the final scene of the story. She smiled at the sound of his bandit father begrudgingly obliging. She got up and took the kerosene lamp with her, turning the knob to put it out when she reached her room.

She'd changed into her nightgown and was standing at her bedside brushing her hair when Arthur appeared at her door a few minutes later.

"Kid's asleep," he said. He stood with his back against the open door—not blocking the doorway, but present. It was a silent question she knew well.

Her eyes landed on the chest in the open top button of his shirt. She looked back up into his face and knew she was ready for him. She nodded.

He entered and latched the door closed behind him. Her eyes followed him as he walked to her small vanity and slowly began undressing. She watched him remove his suspenders and pull his shirt up over his head, and she heard him unbuckle his belt and breeches.

He looked up at her, his posture hesitant, but his gaze full of hunger and longing. Stepping towards her, he gently stroked the side of her hand. He pushed the collar of her nightgown aside and let it slip from her shoulders to the floor. When he saw her bare skin, he leaned down and kissed her shoulder.

She felt the warmth of his mouth on her throat and closed her eyes. He brought his temple to rest beside hers, and she felt his breath beneath her ear. In the next instant, his mouth hovered near hers in the dim moonlight that flooded the room, and she tried not to lose herself in him.

He brought his hand up to her breast, and she gasped, jumping and recoiling rather than falling into a kiss, which he'd so obviously wanted.

"What?" he said, concern showing in his furrowed brows.

She smiled and whispered, "Your hands are cold."

After a moment's realization, he stepped back. He cupped his hands and breathed into them, frantically rubbing them together. She tried not to let herself think on how attentive a gesture it was. But when his eye caught hers as he stepped back towards her and brushed her hair from her forehead, all she could think on was that she wasn't just ready, she was hungry for him.

"Better?" he said.

She nodded.

He slowly kissed the corner of her mouth, allowing his bottom lip to slip between hers as she closed her eyes, letting out a long breath and breathing him in with a quiet one. He slid his arm around her waist, bringing her closer. He lowered her onto the bed and kissed her softly, tenderly, gently.

More gently than she ever could've imagined possible for a man like him.

And she wondered how many times she could take this man into herself and be forced to let him go again. Wondered how many times she could take it. Before she fell apart.

After, when she and Arthur were just between awake and asleep, she heard a name rise gently from his lips like misty breath on a cold morning:

"_Mary_."


	16. 16

"Wandering soul,

wandering mind,

wondering what's gone wrong with me.

And try not to try.

Swayed by the wind,

swayed by desire.

Can't reach the moon up above,

and I don't dare touch the fire.

.

'Cause the trouble with wanting is I want you.

The trouble with wanting is I want you.

The trouble with wanting is I want you,

and I want you all the time.

.

Always on my mind,

always alone.

You could be miles and miles away,

but somehow you're close.

If I can't have my cake

and I can't eat it too

well, I guess the sound of your voice

in the aching will just have to do."

\- Joy Williams, "The Trouble with Wanting"

.

Eliza woke the next morning and turned over to find that Arthur was gone from the bed. From the corner of her eye she saw a note on the nightstand and reached out to read it:

_Gone hunting. Be back before lunch._

She dressed and went to Isaac's room, finding that he was already awake, dressed, and sitting on the end of his bed, reading.

"Morning, matey," she said with a smile as she sat beside him. She knew he was working on reading the smaller words in _Treasure Island_, his favorite book to be read to from.

He looked up at her with a smile. "I bet Arthur would like this one. Could you ask him to read it to me?"

"You can ask him yourself when he gets home," she said running her hand through the hair on the back of his head. "Well, after you get home from your lessons, anyway."

"He's not here? Where is he?" he asked, his brows knitting together.

"He just went to catch us some food, baby. Not to worry. He'll be here when you get back."

He groaned, "Do I have to go to lessons?"

"I thought you liked them!"

"Yeah, but Arthur's here! I wanna be here right when he gets back!"

She grinned. "I won't let him tell any stories until you get home. Promise. Does that make you feel any better?"

"A little," he mumbled. "But I really just like being with Arthur. I just like him."

She brought an arm around him and pulled him close. "I know you do, honey." After a moment she added quietly, "I do too."

* * *

When Arthur returned with a couple rabbits and a small buck hanging over the back of his horse, Eliza was on her hands and knees working in the garden. He skinned the game and went to the smokehouse to hang them.

When he came back out, he looked around for Isaac. Eliza's basket was full of vegetables, and she was rinsing her hands at the water pump. When he walked over and began rinsing, she handed him the bar of soap.

"Where's the kid?" he asked as he wiped his hands on his shirt under his jacket.

"I've paid for some extra tutoring during the Christmas holiday. He's in town; I won't need to pick him up for a few hours."

Not two full minutes passed before the two of them were scuffling and fumbling with each other's clothes up against the wall in her bedroom. With the rare instance of total privacy, they had sex twice that afternoon—once right after the other.

Afterwards, as Eliza lay beside him on the bed, she let the images replay behind her eyes. Before yesterday, it had been several months since Arthur had been inside her, and she relished every sensation—his tongue as he kissed her, the alternate rigidity and litheness of his body as he plummeted into her, the sighs and soft groans that sometimes escaped him. He had a habit each time of reaching underneath and touching the flesh where they joined with the tip of his finger; and each time he did, he sent her over the edge. Arthur had honed his skills as a lover over the almost seven years they'd known each other. But her favorite thing was when they both reached their peak and he gave out after the last moment, relaxing against her and trembling briefly as she held him, waiting for both their breathing to return to normal.

Arthur reclined in the bed and let his mind wander. One thing they had gotten damn good at was sex. This time had been rowdy and loud and breathless, what with the kid being gone and all. He took pleasure in watching her bite her lip, in watching her tense and release, in eliciting his own name from her lips. He smiled. He'd grown accustomed to her after all these years. He could strum her like a master musician could strum a well-tuned guitar.

Next to him Eliza rose up on her right elbow and came close to rest her chest atop his. As she looked at him, he brought his hand to her back and felt her soft bare skin, thinking about how this was a part of her that never saw the light of day.

Eliza felt his fingertips run across her back. She noticed his eyebrows come together as his hand hovered on a place under her arm, just behind her right breast.

"You have a scar here," he said. "How did you get it?"

She was taken aback by how he could've found it, since it was such a small, old scar that the only way to notice it was by running a finger there in a feather-light stroke.

"That," she smiled, "is the mark left by a very young girl who didn't know how to use her mother's curling tongs."

He gave a breathy laugh and raised his brows. "Sure. If it ended up under your arm."

"I haven't thought about that in ages," she smiled.

He trailed his hand slowly up her back, past her neck, and into her hair. He'd always liked her hair, especially now, the way it fell in loose waves about her shoulders. It was like the sun. He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek and gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking at her.

Eliza looked at him as the sunlight came in angled ribbons through her bedroom window. She reached up and trailed a path over his strong, stubbled jaw. When she reached his mouth, she traced his bottom lip with her thumb.

"Say my name. Won't you?" she heard herself whisper.

"What?"

"Say my name," she said.

He looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "You're crazy," he scoffed with a smile.

"Maybe. Come on, say it." She leaned down and kissed him once, twice. She smiled, enjoying the smacking sounds they made with each comfortable kiss. "Say it."

He looked at her, trying not to smirk. "Naw, what are you playin' at?"

"Just say it!" she smiled.

He lifted his head up on the pillow and looked into her green eyes. He felt her breath on his top lip, her mouth hovering just above his. "Eliza."

She kissed him more passionately and felt him breathe deeply. She kissed his neck, and he chuckled.

"You goin' for number three?"

She smiled and continued kissing him, working her way down his chest. Seeing his eyes close, she traveled down his torso to his lower abdomen and ventured further still.

"No, don't do that, no. Come on," she heard him say abruptly in a coarse tone as he sat up and looked at her, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Why not?"

"Because you're not a tart. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her up beside him, lying back down.

She tried to see the inadvertent compliment, but even so felt her face go warm. Even after six years of no longer being a teenager, six years of mothering their son on her own, he still had the ability to make her feel like a child.

With him on his back, she lied on her side, bringing her hands under the pillow and looking at him. She watched him bring his thumb and forefinger to his eyelids and draw them together at the bridge of his nose.

She kept herself from reaching out and touching the crows' feet and the various rough-hewn crags in his face, put there by years of weather and hard living—even at his young age of thirty. Many times she had tried to imagine him in his many different lives that she knew nothing about, that he refused to tell her about. She wondered what these lives meant for how he felt about her, or if they meant he felt nothing for her at all. He was more or less a sealed vault when it came to matters of the heart. At least with her. At least up til now.

"Was she very beautiful?" she asked.

"Who, the tart?" he chuckled. "Not remotely."

"Mary."

She caught him flinch slightly at the name. He stared up at the raw wood boards in the ceiling and sighed. "Yes, very beautiful. But we were also very young. I couldn't tell you whether time has been kind to her."

"When was the last you saw her?"

"Oh, it's been…going on thirteen, fourteen years now." He turned to her, his expression annoyed. "Did you read my journal?"

The question was a subtle jab, but a sharp and effective one. They both knew how many times she'd asked him to share something—anything—from his journal with her. She'd never stolen it and pried, but she'd asked. She couldn't help it. God only knew how many times she'd looked up at the stars when he'd been away and wondered where he could be, what he was doing, and what it was that could possibly take him away from their son and so far from her door. All she'd wanted was a chance to see into his world, to peek into his mind and heart—since there seemed to be no other way inside. Apparently Mary had not only found her way inside, but between the pages.

"'Course not," she said. "No need. You told me about her."

He searched her eyes for a moment, then his face relaxed with understanding. He turned to face the ceiling again. "I really don't wanna talk about Mary."

"I only have one question."

"What's that," he said sitting up with his back against the headrest.

"Do you see her when you make love to me?"

He took time to consider his answer, and it was several seconds before he finally responded. He looked down at his hands and raised his eyebrows. "Didn't realize I was making love to you."

She shifted to lie on her back and tried unsuccessfully to shore up the tears. She swallowed. "You're a cruel man, Arthur Morgan. Crueler and crueler all the time."

"Eliza…" he drawled. "I—forgive me, I… Look, Mary is not the reason I'm here, believe me."

"Then what is?"

"What?"

"The real reason you're here?"

They locked eyes, and he was tongue-tied for a moment. "That boy, I reckon."

At the response, she let a spiteful thought pass fleetingly through her mind—the reality that she knew their son better than he did. She nodded. "You never answered my question," she said, knowing he would be brought back to the one thing she'd asked that he had dodged.

He looked away. "Probably because I ain't rightly sure of the answer myself." He sighed, and his voice was deep and quiet when he said, "I reckon the cords of love are nigh impossible to break. You shouldn't expect yourself to be able to, Eliza."

"I don't," she said. "Maybe I only learned you could love a woman last night, when you whispered another woman's name in your sleep after havin' me."

She sat up and leaned away, hunching over as she brought the sheet up over her chest. She was suddenly completely disinterested in being near him, much less being exposed to him.

He got up and began to dress. "You know, I gotta go into town for a few things. It might take a while, but I should be here for supper. Think you'll be all right 'til I get back?"

"I always am," she said, not looking at him.

* * *

When Arthur returned at suppertime, Eliza was just about to dish out the meal.

"Arthur!" Isaac said as Eliza set his plate in front of him. "I thought you'd be here when I got home…but you weren't. I was scared you left for good again."

"Naw, 'course not. Never for good. Just had to pick up a few things." When Eliza came over he nodded and said, "Howdy."

She didn't respond and passed him his plate, and Arthur was keenly aware that she did so without touching or looking at him. He took the plate and thanked her as she turned. He watched her as she prepared her own plate and sat across from them.

"Mama said you went to catch something," Isaac said. "What'd you get?"

"Just a buck, couple rabbits," Arthur said as he took a bite. He watched Eliza as she ate, never once looking at him. He decided to try something. "Pass the cornbread?" he said.

She passed it to him, making sure to grip the pan on the far side so they'd never brush fingers—just as he'd thought. He sat back and sighed, clearing his throat. "Thank ya."

After supper, Isaac took Arthur to the sofa and asked him to read a passage from _Treasure Island_ to him. He ran to his room for the book and came and put it in his hands.

"Do you do voices?" Isaac asked, sitting next to him.

"Sure," Arthur chuckled. "I can if you like."

"Mama always does voices for me," he said, coming close when Arthur opened the book.

Arthur peered up at Eliza, who was busying herself in the kitchen. "I don't, uh…I don't think I'm in your mother's good graces at the moment," he said quietly.

Isaac followed his gaze to his mother. "No, it's just 'cause she loves you," he said, turning back to him.

"What?" Arthur looked down at him.

"You know, sorta like…when I go where she can't see me after she told me not to, or…if I get too close to the stove. She gets mad, but then it's okay because she says it's because she loves me."

"Hm. I'm not sure it's the same."

"Sure it is. I know my mama. She only gets mad at you if she loves you."

Arthur glanced in Eliza's direction, then looked away. "So, uh…you ready to hear a couple pages out of your story? What's this one about, anyway?"

Isaac smiled. "Pirates!" he said, covering one eye. "And buried treasure!"

"Oh, our favorite kind!" Arthur propped the open book up while Isaac rested his chin in his hand.

Arthur read him a couple chapters; and when Isaac fell asleep, he carried him to his bed. When he returned, Eliza had finished in the kitchen and was heading to her room.

Arthur moved to follow her but had to quickly stop short when Eliza shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet.

He sighed and scratched his head, preparing to make his bed on the sofa.

.

"You know how to make me weak in the knees

when you pour yourself all over me,

but somebody broke you back in the day.

Now you never ever love.

Now you only wanna play.

There's a big old hole in the middle of you

'cause somebody left you black and blue.

Yeah we all make promises we can't keep,

and they're paper thin but cut so deep.

I cry when you do, I cry when you don't.

Why won't you tell me what, what you want with me?

One day we're together, then we're apart.

Why won't you let me fill up your empty heart?"

\- Grace Potter, "Empty Heart"


	17. 17

"Mamas, don't let your babies

grow up to be cowboys…

Cowboys like smoky old pool rooms

and clear mountain mornings,

little warm puppies and children

and girls of the night.

And them that don't know him won't like him,

and them that do sometimes won't know how to take him.

He ain't wrong; he's just different.

But his pride won't let him do things to make you think he's right."

\- "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys," Ed & Patsy Bruce, sung by Willie Nelson & Waylon Jennings

.

.

The next morning Isaac woke and ran out of his room to find that both Eliza and Arthur were already up and sitting on either side of the fireplace. They looked up and smiled at him.

"Merry Christmas, dear."

"Hey, Isaac! Merry Christmas, partner."

Isaac beamed. "You're still here!" he said as he ran up to hug Arthur.

"'Course I am. Wouldn't miss Christmas. What kind of a friend would I be?"

Isaac looked at him. "We are friends, aren't we?"

"You bet," he said patting his back as Isaac squeezed him tighter. Arthur smiled. "You like me now, wait 'til you see what I gotchya."

Isaac pulled back and gasped. "What is it?!"

"Well, hold on now," Arthur chuckled. "You open your mother's gift first."

Eliza handed Isaac something thin and rectangular, wrapped in parcel paper and tied with twine. Isaac took it, hurriedly pulling at the string and tearing the paper.

He looked at the cover of the book. "T-twen…ty…" Isaac read.

Arthur peered over his shoulder and read, "_Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea._"

"Arthur…" Eliza groaned, cocking her head at him.

"What?"

"He could've read it on his own. Have some patience."

Arthur scoffed through his nose. "You know who you're talkin' to, right?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Another book for my shelf!" Isaac said.

"You like it?" Eliza smiled.

He nodded.

"Bookshop keeper told me it's about a special underwater vessel, and all the adventures they find deep in the sea," Eliza said as Isaac came to her lap. "I thought you might like a new story."

"Thank you, Mama," he said kissing her cheek.

Arthur took a sip of coffee as he watched them. "All right," he said. "Mine ain't gonna keep much longer."

Isaac gasped and hopped off his mother's lap. "What is it? What is it?!"

"Wait right here," Arthur said as he set his mug down and went out the front door.

Isaac scrunched his eyebrows and looked at his mother, who looked at him and shrugged. Isaac squirmed, trying to resist the impulse to go to the door and peek out.

Several seconds later Arthur returned with a lidded red box about the size of a large bread loaf that he held in both hands. Isaac's eyes went wide as he set it on the floor in front of him.

When Isaac reached out to open it, the lid popped on its own, and Isaac gave a slight jump. As Isaac looked at his mother in confusion, disbelief, and slight fear, Arthur grinned wide and bit his thumbnail to keep from laughing.

Isaac looked up at Arthur, his eyes wide.

"Go on," Arthur said.

Isaac inched closer to the box and stuck a finger out to push the lid off. When he did, a small red puppy with long, droopy ears slowly stuck its head up.

Isaac's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he began to scoop the puppy up. "A puppy! Mama, look! My very own puppy!"

Eliza was speechless. She looked at Arthur, her eyes big as oranges. "Arthur Morgan!" she whispered.

At that, Arthur lost control and erupted into snickering.

Eliza noticed Isaac was having trouble lifting the pup, so she told him to sit on the sofa as she brought it to him.

"This is the best Christmas," Isaac whispered as he stroked the pup's head. "Arthur here and a new book _and_ a puppy. The best Christmas."

Arthur smiled and shook his head. "It was a hell of a time trackin' down someone who had an actual pup to sell, and not just pickin' up a stray dog."

Isaac lifted the pup under the arms, looked at it, and pursed his lips. "I'll call him…Alfred."

"It's actually a girl, Isaac," Arthur said.

"How do you know?"

Arthur rubbed his neck. "Well, uh… Your mother can talk to you about that…later," he cleared his throat. He could feel Eliza eyeing him and couldn't resist glancing over. When he saw the look she was giving him, he shrugged.

She grinned and shook her head.

"What should I call her then?" Isaac asked.

"Well," Arthur said, "if you wanted Alfred, why not just call her…Allie?"

Isaac smiled. "I like it!"

"Allie it is then," his mother said.

Arthur reached over and rubbed the pup's head. "She ain't just any pup, neither. She's a redbone coonhound. One of the best kinds of dog there is." He took the pup's velvet ear between his fingers and eyed Isaac, who was enthralled with the dog, cooing and whispering to her. "Now, this ain't like any of your toys, Isaac. Listen to me. Sit up, now, and listen."

Eliza watched as Isaac sat up straight and looked at Arthur.

"Isaac, this is a living thing," Arthur said. "You have to take care of her. Do right by her. That means you pay close attention to her, all right?"

"Yes, sir," Isaac said quietly, nodding.

"This is your job. Not your mama, not nobody but you. Hear me? You feed her, clean up after her, and make sure she doesn't get sick. It's all part of takin' care of somebody else. I don't wanna hear from your mother that you're neglectin' her. I wouldn't have gotten her for you if I didn't think you could handle it."

"Yes, Arthur. I will. I promise."

"Good," Arthur said with a single nod. "You do right by a dog, you'll find you have no better friend." He smirked as he watched Isaac go back to snuggling and whispering to the pup. "Happy?"

Isaac nodded profusely.

Arthur chuckled and let his head fall back slightly, reveling in his triumph as he came to sit beside Eliza.

She was still dumbfounded. "How did you…?"

"Couldn't rightly leave her in the barn overnight; she would've frozen to death or been eaten up by wolves. Hid her in my jacket when I got back yesterday, put her behind the tree when you weren't lookin'. Kept her on the porch this mornin'."

Her face softened with understanding, and her jaw fell open. "Arthur…" she smiled and shook her head as she looked back at her son.

He saw the slightest hesitation on her face. "What is it?"

She sighed and struggled with the words. "I know you mean well, Arthur. And look at the smile on his face. He needs as much of that as he can get." She looked at Arthur. "I'm not complaining; truly, I'm not. I'm glad he's engaging with you, and that he has a new friend. But I won't lie when I say I shudder at the thought of another mouth to feed."

He eyed her. "Money I've been leaving ain't enough?"

"It lasts us…a couple months. If we're frugal."

He shook his head and grumbled, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize." He looked at her again. "How you gettin' by for that last month?"

"I take odd jobs here and there, while he's at school."

His expression turned hard, and he shook his head. "No. I can't have that, Eliza. You've got too much work as it is. You'll spread yourself too thin."

She could see how disappointed and hard on himself he was just at learning the truth of how they got on. She'd known he would be; it was why she'd tried to avoid letting on all this time. "We're makin' it work, Arthur, honest. Don't think for a second I'm not grateful, and don't think I have it on my mind to ask for more."

"I know you don't, and you wouldn't. You're too good," he said, frustration edging his voice. "But you've gotta tell me these things, Eliza," he said with a shake of his head. He went into a lower whisper, "It's not just your son; it's mine we're talkin' about too. And if I can do more to take care of him, I will. But I've gotta know about it first."

She nodded. "All right," she said. "You have my word. From now on. You'll know the real state of things."

He nodded. "Thank ya."

She took a breath and decided to try to lighten the mood. Looking at Isaac she smiled as she shook her head. "Arthur Morgan, you sure can keep a secret. So that's what you were doing in town…?"

He looked over at her and grinned in response. "Well, that, and this," he said turning to reach behind him. When he turned back around Eliza was holding something out to him, with a big smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"What's this—for me?" he chuckled. He took it and unfolded the parcel paper to reveal a portrait photograph of Isaac.

"I took him to have it taken on his sixth birthday. Was keepin' it for the next time you were here," she said. "He looks so darn much like you, it's uncanny."

"He's beautiful," he said quietly. He touched the corner of the photograph and swallowed. "Thank you, Eliza. I'll keep it pressed tight in my journal."

"I'm glad," she said standing.

"W-well, hold on a minute," he said pulling her back. "You didn't think I'd forget you, did ya?"

Her eyebrows came together as she sat back on the sofa. He pulled what he'd had behind him and handed it to her. "Didn't have the time nor patience to wrap it."

She turned it over to see it was a small framed sketch of a landscape scene, with one side clearly ruffled from a neat tear.

"It's a page from my journal, from when I was on the road," he said. "I had 'em put a little frame on it when I was in town. It's not much by any means, but…I figured of all people, you might like to have it."

Eliza's eyes began filling as she touched the glass of the frame. She hugged it to her chest and smiled at him, then looked down at it again.

"Well, I'm no Rembrandt, but…I reckon she likes it," he grinned.

"Thank you, Arthur." She stood looking for a place to hang it but caught herself. "Oh, I'll need to go get a hammer and nail."

"Ah, I can do that. Just point to where you want it."

"Right here should do," she said holding it up against the wall.

"Well, right there it is then," he said. "Won't take me but a minute."

Later that day Arthur came up to Eliza when the three of them were outside. "Hey. Forgot to pick this up yesterday. Would you mind goin' into town to get it for me?" he said handing her a slip of paper.

She took it and looked at what he'd written. "Arthur, I was just about to go inside and begin cooking Christmas dinner. And I doubt the bookstore will be open on Christmas Day."

"No, but the mercantile might. They'll probably have that one today."

She eyed him. "Why can't you go get it yourself?"

"Well, I thought I heard you say you needed some other things. Guess I thought you'd be goin' into town anyway."

"Yes, but not today of all days!"

"Well, now you've got one more thing to get. Better get a move on."

"I don't know, Arthur, I've got a lot to do today—"

"Come on," he groaned, shooing her towards her horse. "It shouldn't take you long."

She shot him an incredulous look. "A trip to town _always_ takes a while!"

He chuckled wheezily, "Damn it, Eliza. Humor me."

Once she'd gone, he called Isaac over to him. "Hey. Isaac. I've sent your mama into town—"

"On Christmas?!"

"Yes, on Christmas! Now, listen. We're gonna make your mama supper for once. Now the only thing I know to make is a nice, hearty stew. But we can still do that up fancy-like. Remember that buck I brought home the other day?"

Isaac nodded.

"I'm 'on chop that up, and I need you to go into the garden and pick some nice, big carrots and parsnips. Think you can do that for your—" he caught himself before he said pa and cleared his throat, "your old pal Arthur?"

Isaac smiled and nodded.

"Well all right then. Let's get to it."

Isaac made a move towards the garden, then turned back. "Hey, Arthur," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Is this a secret surprise?"

"Yeah, this is a secret surprise," Arthur chuckled. "Now go on. Make sure the foliage is good and big before you pick it," he called as Isaac darted into the garden.

A while later Isaac walked through the front door carrying bunches of root vegetables by the leafy stems and dumped them on the kitchen table.

"Ah, nah, nah!" Arthur shouted, but it was too late. He watched as the black soil bounced across the table. "Isaac, you can't bring these onto the table—this is where we eat! You gotta go wash 'em off. Go on now."

Isaac dipped his head and gathered up the vegetables. He stopped at the doorway and looked back to see Arthur grumble, "Ah!" as he wiped the table. Isaac washed at the water pump and returned with clean vegetables.

"All right, now, I'll chop these up," Arthur said. "I've already got the venison chopped and in the pot with the stock." As he chopped, he noticed Isaac's forlorn look. He nudged him. "Hey, it was an easy fix. You know I'm not cross with you, don't you?"

Isaac nodded and smiled.

Arthur reached over and ruffled his hair. "Good boy." After he finished chopping, Arthur wiped his hand on his shirt. "Now…your mama got any herbs around here?" he asked, looking around.

Isaac rose on his tip-toes and stretched to point at a top cupboard. "She dries 'em for the winter."

"Perfect," Arthur said, taking a jar down from the shelf. He threw a couple pinches into the pot. "Now it's time to take it to the fireplace." He grunted as he hefted the large pot off the counter. "I only know how to make _big_ pots of stew, for lots of people."

Isaac laughed.

Arthur hung the pot over the fire. He stirred it a few times then let it sit, and after several minutes the stew was boiling. Arthur watched as the flames licked the bottom of the pot, and he leaned over to stir again.

"Mm-mm! Smell that?" He wafted the steam in Isaac's direction, and Isaac took a step closer to breathe it in.

Isaac watched the thick broth bubble. "Smells awful good," he said.

"Crack an egg in it, make it even better," Arthur thought aloud.

Isaac scrunched his face and looked up at him. "Huh?"

Arthur laughed. "You heard me."

Isaac bolted out of the house and ran to the chicken coop, pulling out an egg the way his mother had shown him. He came back to stand next to Arthur.

"Crack it straight into the soup?" he asked.

Arthur nodded.

Isaac pushed his thumb into the shell and dropped the egg in. He saw it sink down into the soup and watched as its white tendrils rose up to the surface.

"Whoa," Isaac said. Arthur gave it a single stir, and Isaac watched as the color of the stew changed. "It's…creamy!"

"Yup," Arthur smiled.

Just then Eliza walked through the front door to see both boys hunched over the fireplace. A rich smell hit her in the face.

"Think mama'll like it?" she heard Isaac say.

"Like what?" she said hanging her coat on a hook.

They immediately jumped and turned. She saw a startled look on their faces as they scrunched close side by side, trying to hide whatever was behind them.

"Uh…it's nothing, Mama," Isaac said. "I was just wondering if you liked your ride into town."

"Ah, what's the point, Isaac," Arthur grumbled. "We're gonna give it to her now, ain't we?"

"I guess so." A wry grin spread across Isaac's face as he looked from Arthur to her, and she was struck again by just how much he looked like his father. "Surprise!" Isaac said as he stepped aside to reveal the pot. "Merry Christmas!"

"What's this?"

"Sit at the table, Mama! We made you Christmas supper!"

"You did?!" She sat as Arthur spooned her a bowl.

"Take a bite! Take a bite, Mama!" Isaac was almost dancing with anticipation, his eyes wide.

She took a spoonful and was surprised to find how good it was. She closed her eyes. "Mm… It's actually…wonderful!"

"Don't sound so surprised," Arthur chuckled as Isaac gave a jump and nudged him in triumph.

She looked up at Arthur. "You helped him make this?" she asked with half a mouthful.

"It was all Arthur's idea!" Isaac said.

Arthur turned his head to Isaac past where he thought Eliza could see and gave him an exasperated look. "Come on, kid," he grumbled. He sighed and rubbed his neck as he turned back to Eliza. "You cook for us every day; I figured…wouldn't be right to let you do it on Christmas too."

She smiled and tried not to let the ridiculous girlish blush she knew was coming show.

Arthur saw how her eyes lit up and a rosy flush filled her face, though she tried to hide it.

"Thank you," she said taking Isaac's hand. "Both of you. It was very thoughtful." She got up as if just remembering something. "Well, I'd prepared you a surprise too! I just need to heat it."

"What is it?!" Isaac asked.

"Your favorite," Eliza smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling.

"Sweet potato pie!" he exclaimed.

Eliza pulled out a cast-iron skillet from the cupboard filled to the brim with sugared sweet potato mash and stuffed it in the iron oven.

"Guess I couldn't succeed in havin' you completely avoid cookin'," Arthur said. "I'd have needed to have got started a week ago," he chuckled.

She looked at him with a sarcastic smile. "Are you complainin'?"

"No, no!" he said holding up both hands. "Not me. Never. Sweet potato pie? No complainin' from me."

Several minutes later she pulled it out and set it on the counter. After it had cooled a bit she returned to it, admiring the golden crust and caramelized edges—her favorite part of the pie—a sign of her good work.

Just then a hand came into her view, its finger swiping a scoop of the edge she'd just been admiring. She followed the finger as it rose to see Arthur stick it in his mouth and raise his eyebrows with a mischievous smile.

"Mm. Pretty good," he mumbled.

Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped; but try as she might, when she looked at him she couldn't keep from smiling.

At her expression, a boyish grin split his face; and he winked one of his bright eyes at her.

As he walked away, she was left entranced by how comfortable he was in their home, by how beautiful he could be when he was childlike, and by the simple fact that she hadn't scolded or swatted him. It was all she could do to take a deep breath and smile to herself.

After supper, when they were all finally resting by the fire, Eliza leaned across to him and whispered, "Oh, by the way, here's the book you wanted. You were right. They had it on display today." When he took it, she was surprised to see something akin to a bashful smile creep across his face.

"Thought I'd read him some Dickens before bed tonight."

Surprised again by the sweetness of the gesture, she smiled. "That would be lovely. I think he'd really like that."

"Isaac, how's about a Christmas bedtime story?" he said. "I had your mother pick this one up special for you today."

"Do we get to keep it?" Isaac asked.

"Yes," Arthur chuckled. "It's for you to keep."

Arthur cracked open the new book binding and read aloud as Isaac sat next to him on the sofa.

"'Marley was dead, to begin with…'" he began.

When Arthur got to the first ghost, Isaac was glued to him, hanging on his every word.

"'"Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused!" Arthur read, employing the use of a dusty, decrepit voice to invoke the image of an old ghost. Isaac's eyes went wide; and he rested his elbows on Arthur's thigh, putting his chin on the heels of his hands. "'"Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"'"

"You didn't tell me this had ghosts in it, Arthur!"

Arthur's eyes slid over to him. "Why would I tell you anything about it? A good reader doesn't give the good bits away."

Isaac squinted and smirked at him.

Eliza shook her head as she mended a tear in a pair of Isaac's breeches.

Arthur continued reading as the moon hung low, the owls hooted, and his son crept closer to him. "'It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humor.'"

He glanced down when he felt his left arm being pushed up. He watched as Isaac crawled under his arm and into his lap.

"Don't stop," Isaac whispered. "It's just getting even better. I can tell."

Eliza watched as Isaac let his head fall back against his father, and Arthur gazed down at him and swallowed, finally bringing his hand around to Isaac's belly.

She smiled and tried to clear her few quiet tears so she wouldn't miss a bit of the scene as Arthur resumed reading.

As the evening wore on Isaac began to yawn, and he turned and nestled deeper into his father's chest as his eyelids began to drift to half-mast.

"'And it was always said of him,'" Arthur read quietly, his chin resting on Isaac's head, "'that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us. And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one.'"

As he read the final line of the story, he drew back and looked down to find Isaac's cheek pressed against his chest, his eyes closed and his mouth ajar. He silently kissed the top of his head once before rubbing his back. As he started to get up to carry him to bed, he caught a glimpse of Eliza watching from her seat.

He patched together an awkward, embarrassed smile and whispered, "He can't last, can he?"

She smiled. "Just like any six year-old."

They took him to bed and Eliza tucked him in, but as they were leaving the room, they heard him say, "Mama?"

Both she and Arthur turned, surprised he was still awake.

"Yes, dear?"

"You forgot," Isaac said.

"Never, baby," she said walking back. "I thought you were asleep, after Arthur's beautiful story."

"Did you like it?" Isaac asked as she sat by his bedside.

"Yes, very much. Did you?"

He nodded.

Arthur watched from behind the threshold as Eliza made a show of tucking their son deeper into his blankets.

"Goodnight," she said quietly and slowly, "sleep tight, wake up bright, in the morning light, to do what's right, with all your might."

Arthur saw Isaac's eyes follow her, enthralled by her every word.

Eliza squatted by his bed, looking down at him. "You know I love you, don't you, baby?"

He nodded.

"Do you know how much?"

A tight smile sprang across Isaac's face, and he shook his head.

"You see that bright moon?" she said looking up through his window, and Isaac followed her gaze. "All the way up to the moon, around it, and back down again."

He giggled, "That's a lot of love."

"That's right. That's a lot of love."

"I love you too, Mama."

She leaned down and kissed him. "What are you gonna dream about tonight?"

He thought for a moment. "You, and Allie…and Arthur."

Arthur smiled to himself.

"Arthur too, huh?" Eliza asked.

He nodded and tried to talk through his yawn. "And pirates!"

"Okay," she chuckled, getting up.

"Mama? Will you sing to me?"

"All right. One song, and I think you'll be asleep, little pirate. Turn over."

He turned onto his side facing away from her, and she began stroking the back of his head.

"_Silent night, holy night_," she sang softly, "_all is calm, all is bright…_"

Arthur left his place at the threshold and went into the kitchen, though he could still hear Eliza's singing and humming.

When she came out several minutes later and closed the door behind her, Arthur was pulling a mug from the shelf.

"He's finally asleep," she whispered.

"Whispering sweet nothin's?" he said.

"Oh, it's our bedtime routine. Sometimes he has me go on so long, I fall asleep beside him."

"Well, I don't blame him. You've got a beautiful singing voice, Eliza."

She nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly, trying not to blush. "More so than anything on me, huh?" she joked.

"Nah, I didn't say that," he chuckled, shaking his head and holding up a hand. "Now you're puttin' words in my mouth."

She looked at him and smiled. "You brought laughter back into these walls. Arthur, you…you really made this Christmas wonderful, from beginning to end."

"Ah, I think he did," he said nodding to Isaac's door. "He's the meaning of _precious_, that one."

"Yes, he is," she smiled, then peered up at him. "Something about Christmas…really brings out the little boy in you, Arthur."

He grinned. "'For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas,'" he quoted from the book he'd read earlier. "'Sides, you know…all work and no play makes Arthur a dull boy, and all that." He smiled at her, then looked down at what he was holding. "Here," he said, handing her the mug. "Made you a hot toddy."

"Oh," she said as she took it. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas," he said quietly as she took a sip.

She watched from over the rim as he went to the sofa, sat down, and began removing his boots. He lied down across the cushions and pulled a blanket up over him, closing his eyes.

She watched him for a minute, then set her mug down.

Arthur opened his eyes when he felt a hand slip into his. Eliza was standing over him, a warm, rosy expression in her eyes. He sat up, and she pulled him beside her.

She drew him by the hand to her bedroom, shutting and latching the door behind them and turning the kerosene lamp all the way out.

Standing before him in the moonlight, she slipped a hand underneath the collar of his shirt and slid it across his chest, watching the cloth fall away from his broad shoulder. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"_Merry Christmas, Arthur_."

.

.

"You and I are complicated,

an old and tender bruise,

troubled waters separated,

islands in the room.

You and I try to ignore this

house of mirrors here,

every glance and tone distorted

year after year.

So I will swallow hard to say this,

though it might be a little rough:

If the world wants peace for Christmas,

could it not begin with us?

Maybe love is bigger.

Maybe love is stronger.

Maybe just for Christmas,

but maybe longer."

\- Nichole Nordeman, "Maybe"


	18. 18

"They'll never stay home,

and they're always alone—

even with someone they love.

Cowboys ain't easy to love,

and they're harder to hold.

Each night begins a new day.

And if you don't understand him

and he don't die young,

he'll probably just ride away."

\- "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys," Ed & Patsy Bruce, sung by Willie Nelson & Waylon Jennings

.

.

"Mama, Mama!" Isaac shouted the next morning, knocking boisterously on the door of his mother's bedroom. He heard whispers from behind the door.

"_Shhh!_"

"_Shit. You latched it, didn't you?_"

"_Yes_."

"Mama! You have to come see! I taught Allie a trick!" He pounded even harder on the door, beginning to jostle it on its hinges. "It's morning, Mama! The sun is up! Come on!"

"…_so damn hard, he's gonna unlatch the damn door_," he heard a deep voice rise in tone on the other side.

"Come on! Mama, you have to see!"

Suddenly the door opened, and Arthur poked his head through. "Isaac!" he said looking down at him. "I know you're real excited, and I know you wanna show her; but give your mother some space, all right? She'll be up in a minute. Go play with the pup! Go on!"

He briskly shut the door.

Isaac stood there. It took him a moment, but he realized Arthur's hair looked a mess, and he hadn't been wearing a nightshirt. Sometimes Isaac looked like that when he woke up, but it was strange to see Arthur like that. He was usually already up and about by this time.

"What are you guys doing in there?" Isaac said beginning to knock again, this time hesitantly. "Can—"

"_Isaac, I won't tell you again, boy,_" he heard Arthur say. "_Go on, go play with the dog!_"

"Okay."

"_We'll be out before you know it_."

"All right," Isaac groaned, turning to scoop up his pup and take her to the other room.

It wasn't until later that morning that the bedroom door finally opened and his mother stepped out. She didn't look Isaac's way as she pinned her hair into a bun and briskly headed for the kitchen, the heels of her boots clacking on the wooden floor.

Arthur followed closely behind, fully dressed in his boots, breeches, shirt, suspenders, and hat—only he headed straight for the front door. "Come on, Isaac. Come show me the dog's trick," he said. "We'll see if we can't teach her a few more."

Isaac hopped to his feet and followed him. "Can't mama come?" The two looked back at Eliza.

She smiled at the sight of her boys' expectant faces. "A few minutes. And then I've gotta get back. You want breakfast, don't you?"

* * *

When the three of them had played outside longer than Eliza had anticipated, she left them and rushed to her room for something.

With a breathless smile she went to her vanity and scoured the drawers, looking for a little something—anything—she could wear that might spark Arthur's interest. Like a giddy schoolgirl she was disappointed when nothing turned up.

There was a light blue satin ribbon somewhere around here that she knew he preferred. She turned and eyed her bedside nightstand. Rushing to it, she began opening the drawers.

And she saw it. Not the ribbon, but a stack of bills sitting next to it in the drawer. Her breath caught, and her stomach felt weighted down by a boulder. She knew. She knew as soon as she saw it. He'd be leaving today. And nothing could keep him here.

She sank on the bed. She was so stupid. She'd let herself forget, yet again. It was like she was on an endless voyage that met alternating smooth seas and horrific whirlpools, and she foolishly couldn't resist remaining aboard each time the ship docked. He'd given her hope and dashed it himself. It was like poison. And he was the snake oil salesman. And she couldn't stop taking the bait of his charms.

The sight of the cash…it disgusted her. What was she, a whore?

She felt her heart thud and her temple pound at the loud answer that immediately resounded in her own head. She swallowed, trying to remember that he was leaving it for them, so they'd be safe and well-taken care of.

But it never failed. Every time she stumbled upon the new stack of cash, it never failed to change everything.

He was leaving today.

The gravity of it fell over her as she slowly closed the drawer.

When she went to rejoin the boys, she found them back inside and at the kitchen table joking and laughing, with the dog in Isaac's lap.

"Isaac, puppy or no, that dog doesn't belong at the table," she said quietly. "Put her down please."

Isaac silently obeyed.

"Can I help you with breakfast?" Arthur said.

"No. Shouldn't take me long."

When she placed eggs and biscuits before them, they began devouring them. She sat across from the pair and tried to be interested in the plate before her.

"Mama, are you okay?" Isaac asked slowly.

She looked up at him.

"What's…_that?_" He pointed at her neck.

At the question, she immediately noticed the apple of Arthur's cheek define and rise as he followed Isaac's finger. He then conspicuously returned to his food with a continued grin.

Confused, she went to the small mirror on the wall to find what Isaac had been referring to: a small, circular red bruise on her neck just under her jaw.

Mortified, she tried to cover it with the collar of her frock to no avail as a heated flush began to rise up into her face.

"I'm fine, Isaac," she said returning to the table. "Eat your breakfast."

Satisfied, Isaac's attention went back to his plate of food.

"More than fine, I'd say," Arthur said with a wry grin from underneath the brim of his hat.

She immediately kicked his shin under the table, and he choked and coughed for a moment.

Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat as she tried to regain composure. Tiny prickles covered her chest and arms as her mind drifted to the scene this morning, when Isaac had been pounding on her bedroom door.

"Isaac, I won't tell you again, boy," Arthur had said as she remained in bed. "Go on, go play with the dog!"

"_Okay_," she heard her son's little voice say from the other side of the door.

She held the quilt tight under her chin as she watched Arthur, who had not a stitch of clothing on him, stand near the door.

"We'll be out before you know it," Arthur said.

"_All right_," Isaac groaned.

Arthur listened, and after a few seconds said, "All right, I think he's gone." He came over to the bed and hopped back in. "Where were we?"

She smiled as he kissed her. "Where we were was sleeping, Arthur."

"That's right. Before we were so rudely interrupted by that son of yours," he smiled. "But it weren't just sleepin'—I was holdin' your bare-naked body in my arms." He kissed her with a wry grin. "Waking up naked next to you wouldn't be easy for any man."

It was true. When they'd awoken minutes earlier to the sound of Isaac banging on the door, she'd had her back to Arthur, and he'd been pressed up against her with his arm over her, his forearm curled up over her breasts, and her arm was over his. She never remembered waking up like that before.

He smiled as he pulled the quilt open and slid under, and she felt herself go flush as he pressed the whole of his warm body atop hers. Her pulse always raced faster when she felt the buds of his tongue brush against hers. If he'd been wearing a shirt, she would've balled it up in her fists. She smiled and sighed, closing her eyes as he kissed the crook of her neck. "He's waitin' on us, Arthur. He's expectin' us to be up soon."

"My son can wait. Believe me," he said trying not to laugh, "he'll understand well enough when he's older."

She smiled as she felt his hands run over her. The irony was not lost on her that such rough, calloused instruments could initiate goosebumps in her the way they did, passing over every sensitive part of her as lightly as clouds, tracing the outline of her hips, one of them eventually finding its way under her thigh. She slid a hand down to make room for him, but he was already taking care of it. She grinned and looked into his eyes as he lifted her thigh. "You're a creature of habit, Arthur Morgan."

"Sure. I'll admit that. Only you can't quite decide if this qualifies as a good or a bad one," he said, his grin brightening. "Not that it matters much."

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Arthur."

Eliza blinked as she came back to the present moment.

She'd fallen back into his arms and opened her legs to him again last night, and yet again this morning, even after the horrible things they'd said to each other just two days before. Oh, god, she burned at the thought. She looked at Arthur as he ate. He'd always looked a little older than he actually was; he was brooding that way. But god only knew he was nothing less than her Achilles heel.

She wasn't stupid. She was well aware of the ways of the world. If her life before hadn't taught her in head knowledge, Arthur himself had seen fit to show her by experience. She loathed the possibility that all she was to him was a piece of ass, his own private well of honey secreted away from the world for him to return to and dip into every few months. The mere thought brought her to the brink of madness.

She hated the thought too that he regretted ever meeting her, regretted tying themselves in a knot to each other forever with the choice they'd made that night.

She looked at Isaac and Arthur sitting across the table from her as they ate their breakfast. She watched as Arthur reached over and ruffled Isaac's hair and Isaac nudged him back playfully, causing Arthur to smile.

Father and son. Long lost puzzle pieces. And there the three of them sat: a makeshift family.

She glanced at Arthur. They'd stumbled into incidental monogamy, the pair of them.

She couldn't eat. She decided to get up and try to busy herself with kitchen work.


	19. 19

When Isaac ran outside once again to play with the dog, Arthur stood from the table.

"I've gotta go chop us some more firewood," he said. "I've already got a nice pile of logs ready to split; shouldn't take me long."

"Arthur, wait," she said. "Why don't you sit with me and rest a while?"

He hesitated a moment. "Okay. You got some coffee ready?"

"Sure do," she said turning and handing him a mug. "Come sit."

He followed her, and they sat across from each other on the sofas in front of the fireplace. He took a swig from the mug but paused when he felt her take his other hand. He looked at her from over the rim of the mug and realized something was off. Instead of drinking her own coffee, she was focused on the floor with a glazed look in her eyes, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

"You're trembling." He immediately set the mug on the side table. "What's goin' on, Eliza?"

"Arthur," she said taking a breath, the color draining slightly from her face, "there's somethin' I been needin' to talk to you about." She began stroking his hand with her thumb. "It's real hard: it's hard for me to tell you, and it's gonna be hard for you to hear. You're not gonna like it." Her eyes fluttered downward before looking back up at him. "But I promised to tell you the real state of things."

His eyes went wide for a moment. "Now I know you're not about to tell me that you're…" he said, motioning to her belly. "You told me years ago that you had the timing of our whole cycle thing all figured out!" He put his hand to his face. "Oh… I know we said we couldn't… Ah," he sighed and wagged his head, "but I was really hopin' not to put you through that again, hun."

Catching his meaning, she shook her head. "No, it's not that. In some ways, it's even harder. No, it's…it's about the son you already have."

His eyebrows came together. "What about him?"

"See, the truth is, he…"

He was unnerved by how quickly her eyes were filling. "Out with it, woman."

"He's not well," she said shakily. "He's not right, I mean. He goes weeks, even months without ever speaking. He hardly says a couple words, on a real good day."

He looked at her as if she had a third eye. "What the hell you talkin' about? He seems just fine—"

"I know he does when you see him, but that's not what he's like normally." She sniffed. "Doctor thought he was delayed in mind; but we realized he's really very smart, and as you know he can speak just fine. Speaks fine actually…only whenever you come round." She looked up into his eyes. "The minute you leave, he clams shut again like a quick-snap lock. I can't get him to say two words to me, or anyone for that matter." The quiet tears began rolling down. "Doctor said it's not like anything he's ever seen. He decided he's got the melancholia, real bad."

"Melancholia?" he said gruffly. "Hell, we all got that."

She shook her head. "It ain't like that, Arthur. It's not like a bad day or…feelin' sad. It's different. The doctor diagnosed him." She pressed a hand to her mouth as she looked into his eyes. "He's six years old, and the doctor diagnosed him."

Arthur felt seasick as she spoke. He peered at her. "If this is a ploy to get me to stay…"

"It isn't," she shook her head profusely. "You can speak to the doctor if you like. He comes by once a month to visit with him, but you can go into town and ask him." Her breathing came in agitated sobs as she looked down and said, "I don't know what to do, Arthur. I'm scared for him. I love him more than life, and I can't fix him, can't protect him."

His chest went tight as if he'd been held underwater too long. His gaze drifted past Eliza to nothing at all.

She took a deep breath, steadying her breathing once again.

Looking down, he ran a hand across his forehead. He pressed his fingers against his temple and shook his head. "I need a smoke."

Eliza watched as he stood and went outside. Once he'd left, she let her head fall into hands and brushed her hair back out of her face. She looked up again at the empty doorway and pressed her fingers to her mouth.

Arthur went around to the side of the house, leaning against the wall as he pulled out a cigarette. As he struck the match against his boot sole, he listened to the scratch and following _whoosh_ of the flame. He lit his cigarette and shook the match before tossing it away. Holding the cigarette between his two fingers, he took a long pull on it before exhaling a cloud of smoke. He quickly returned it to his mouth for another couple of frantic puffs, hoping to hasten the small relief he knew it would bring.

He closed his eyes and felt the familiar spark of warmth fill his throat. He brought his thumb and forefinger up to his forehead, trying to massage away his burgeoning headache. He hung his head and let out a long, full sigh.

He looked up, and his eyes landed on Isaac playing in the grass with the pup and singing to himself. _Ah, son_, he thought with a grimace as he watched him.

Just like that an idea occurred to him, and before he realized it he was walking over to him.

"Hey, Isaac," he mumbled, rubbing his neck.

The child paused his singing and looked up at him with his big blues. "Yeah?"

"Would you wanna…come fishin' with me?"

"I've never been."

"Well, not to worry. I'll teach ya."

At that, his eyes lit up, and he jumped up like a flea on a rodent. "Mama!" he called. "We're goin' fishin'! Don't wait up! Be sure to watch Allie for me, please!"

"Well, hold on," Arthur said. "We need our equipment."

Eliza came through the front door, and Arthur asked her where the poles were.

"In the barn," she responded, and they all walked over. "Should be just inside the door, to the left, leaning against the wall," she said as they approached the barn door.

As Arthur rounded the corner, he hitched his next step. "Aw, shit," he said dropping to the floor and hurriedly scooting backwards. There in the corner stood a mean old skunk, thankfully still unawares.

He heard Eliza cackle to his left, and funnily enough, she sounded more grown up to him in that moment than she ever had. He heard himself join in her laughter out of relief. He got up to his feet, but remained crouched in case he needed a quick getaway.

Isaac had been so excited he'd gotten out in front of him, so he was closest to the unlikely predator. After Arthur's sudden and uncharacteristic exhibition, Isaac was looking at him instead, with his back towards the corner. He hadn't seen the skunk.

"Isaac, why don't you come back over this way?" Arthur tried to say calmly.

"Why? Don't we need to get—"

"No, don't! Don't turn around," Arthur said slowly. "You can turn around…after you come over here."

"Do as he says, baby," Eliza said through stifled cackles. "You can see what we see when you come over here."

Isaac scrunched his eyebrows and cocked his head at them, but made his way towards them nonetheless.

"'Atta boy," Arthur said, grabbing him when he finally neared him. He turned him around. "That's what was behind you."

Isaac's expression dropped flat. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

Eliza huffed a few laughs, and Arthur smiled.

"We got you over here, didn't we?" he said. He looked at the skunk. "He's a nasty lookin' son of a bitch too."

"Well, how are we going to get the poles?" Isaac asked. "I guess I could make a run for it…"

"No, no!" Eliza said as Arthur caught him by the arm. "Don't you dare!"

Arthur looked down at his son. "Take it from me, kid," he smirked. "Best not." He looked up at the skunk in the corner, who was still contentedly going about his own business. "We'll have to draw him out some other way," he whispered. "I'll set up some bait outside; that oughta do it."

Arthur threw together some odorous bait and watched as the skunk went for it. Before they knew it, they had their poles, and Arthur was mounting his horse.

Eliza lifted her son to him, her eyes just gliding over Arthur's until he said, "I'll take good care of him."

She nodded. "I know you will."

Arthur set off to the river he knew was a ways past the tree line.

When they got there, he brought out their poles and told Isaac to speak in only hushed tones.

"What are we going to use as bait?" Isaac asked.

"Night crawlers are best for this area."

"What are those?"

"Worms. We find the right patch of dirt, we won't have to dig deep."

"Dig?"

"Yeah, come on." Arthur took a few steps and disturbed the soil with the toe of his boot. "See how this earth is black and soft? It's perfect. Go on in there and find us a few juicy ones."

Isaac stood stock still. "I don't think mama would like it if I got very dirty…"

"Your mother? No," Arthur shook his head. "Can't think about her right now. You can't fish without gettin' dirty. Trust me. When we clean 'em there'll be guts and every other kinda thing. 'Sides. Gettin' dirty is what boys do. Go on."

Isaac knelt and stuck his small hands into the ground, his fingernails quickly caking with dirt. He looked up with a smile and said, "Got one."

"Well all right; let's see it then."

Before long Isaac had pulled out several night crawlers, and Arthur strung two of them onto their hooks.

"Now cast your line like this," Arthur said showing him when they were standing at the edge of the water. "Sorta like you're throwin' somethin' over your shoulder—real smooth. Ever thrown a lasso?"

"No, sir."

"No, you wouldn't have," Arthur smirked. "Guess that's another thing I'll have to show ya."

"Will you?" Isaac perked up.

"Shh. Don't wanna spook the fish. Sure I will. When you're a little older. " He watched as Isaac casted his line. "That's it. Now when you feel a little jiggle, don't panic. That just means a fish is nippin', tryin' to see what your bait is about. When feel a tug and see the line go tight and your pole dip, that means it's taken your bait in its mouth and pullin' away with it. You'll need to snap your pole back once and quick, then reel her in."

"Do you think the fish are hungry?"

"We'll soon find out. We missed the early morning bite, and the next best thing is just after sunset. But we ain't got that kinda time."

"I don't know about you, but I ain't got that kinda patience either," Isaac grumbled. "I don't wanna wait around 'til sunset."

Arthur chuckled. "Sorry to tell ya, kid, but you gotta have some amount of patience to catch fish."

"Why?"

"Well…it takes time. They gotta find your bait. Anything worthwhile…it don't come easy, Isaac."

"Okay," he grumbled.

Arthur listened to the way the creek's clear water bubbled and babbled. After several minutes of the two standing in silence, he glanced over and cleared his throat. "Hey, Isaac. You, uh… You ever…met your pa?"

Isaac shook his head. "No. But I know what he's like."

Arthur studied his son. "Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hm. Mama says he's a true wild west cowboy; says he wears a wide-brimmed hat; says he's real tall…and that I get my handsome looks from him," he grinned up at his father, who smiled back at him. "I thought you might be him…" he said as he looked down and went back to fishing, "but you can't be."

Arthur was caught off guard. "Why you say that?"

"Because mama says my pa is a good man, but struggles inside with evil. That means bad. So you can't be him."

"Oh," Arthur managed with a raspy breath. "I see." He looked away and nodded. Looking back at him he said, "Does that mean you'd like for me to be your pa?"

Isaac thought for a moment. "No," he said. "Mm…maybe you could be someone kinda like a pa, but you're not my real pa. Not if my pa struggles with evil. My mama doesn't lie. And that would mean you're struggling with evil." He looked up into his face. "You're not like that, Arthur."

Arthur looked forward and swallowed.

"What about my mama?" Isaac asked.

"What about her?"

"Well, don't you like her?"

"Why would you ask me somethin' like that?" Arthur chuckled with a wheeze.

"Well, I don't know if you know, but you smile at each other a lot."

Arthur cocked his head and grumbled to himself, "Well, we don't always smile at each other."

"I see the way you look at each other. It's…different," Isaac said. "And I saw you tickle her once when you thought I wasn't looking."

Arthur looked at him with an agape, embarrassed grin and nodded to the side like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Ah," he chuffed, "Isaac…"

"Well, don't you? Even a little bit?"

Arthur dipped his chin, finding it hard to be pinned down by a six year-old. "Well, sure, I like her well enough. But it ain't—"

"Well, why don't you just marry her then, and then you could be my pa?"

Arthur immediately opened his mouth to protest, then realized it was just him and the boy. There was no need to insist coyness, no need to toe the line or feel he was toying cruelly with a woman's emotions no matter what he said.

He looked down at Isaac from the corner of his eyes. "Think she'd have me?"

Isaac looked up at him. "I told you. She loves you." Isaac looked back out at the water.

The corner of Arthur's mouth flicked up in the slightest grin. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "Well, you best put that outta your head, Isaac—"

Just then, Isaac gasped. "I got one!" he whispered. "I think I got one, Arthur!"

"You feel a tug?"

"Yeah!"

"Reel her in! Reel that sucker in!" he said, smiling as he watched his son's excitement rise. Isaac anxiously spun the reel until he saw a fish flop close to shore.

"Don't stop!" Arthur almost laughed. "Keep goin', until it's all the way out of the water!"

* * *

"How'd it go?" Eliza said as the two of them approached the homestead on Arthur's horse. She had just been beating a rug on the front porch, and she stopped and wiped her hands as they pulled to a stop.

"Terrific," Arthur replied. "Kid's a natural. Caught one on the first try," he said as he dismounted and lowered Isaac down off the horse.

"You should've seen it, Mama! I caught a—well, look!" He pointed as Arthur pulled the fish out.

"Wow! Looks mighty tasty!" Eliza said. "We'll fry it up good tonight. How's that sound?"

"Yeah, as long as there's a body of water nearby, you won't have trouble finding food, with this one," Arthur said nodding to his son. "Good job, Isaac."

Isaac beamed up at him. "Thanks, Arthur," he said as the pup came running out of the house to him.

"Oh! She's been waitin' for ya!" Eliza smiled.

Isaac ran off to play with the pup.

Arthur scratched his neck as he walked over to Eliza and quietly said, "You ever tell him outright that I'm not his father?"

"No," she said, her expression falling. "No, I'd never lie to him like that. Why?"

He looked back at Isaac. He shook his head and walked past her into the house.


	20. 20

"Sing to me your sweetest song.

It could be my last."

– Needtobreathe, "Disaster Road"

.

"And if you never come back,

if you never call,

I'll say I understand when I don't at all."

.

\- Joy Williams, "The Trouble with Wanting"

.

* * *

Isaac ran up to the front door with Allie in tow to show his mother and Arthur a flower he'd found outside when he heard them talking in the kitchen and stopped at the threshold.

"_You can't try to deny that_," he heard his mother say.

He peered around the threshold to see them looking at each other, his mother's back to him.

"Tell me you don't love me," his mother said.

"I don't love you," Arthur said.

"No. Just like _fuckin_' me," his mother said, slamming something down on the counter.

Isaac gasped. He'd never heard such a word out of his mother's mouth. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was all wrong. It frightened him. Her voice was tense and desperate. Like she was mad, scared, and sad all at once.

Something in Arthur's face changed.

"You can call it that if you like. Just remember it was your word, not mine," he said with a single shake of his head, and his eyes were cold.

Isaac had never seen them like this before. He hated it.

He pulled back from the threshold and took a few side steps away from the door, pressing his back against the house. Something must've happened to make them sad and scared and angry. He hoped it wasn't sometimes he did. He picked Allie up and ran away from the house, his chest tightening and his eyes stinging at the thought.

* * *

Eliza was cooking something at the stove when she felt Arthur's lips on her neck making their way up to her jaw under her ear, his stubble lightly scratching her as he went. He brought his fingers to her cheek, brushing away the stray hair that fell into her face and kissing her there. She felt his breath on her neck, and she closed her eyes. Yet again she felt the familiar ache in the pit of her stomach: lust mingled with more sadness than usual.

If only he knew how often she thought of him when he was away. How she'd feel a breeze in the cool of day and think it was his fingers on her cheek. How she'd imagine his warmth next to her in bed, imagine his lips and breath waking her up in the morning. Like a phantom he was always with her. And when he was with her, he wasn't.

But she had to remind herself: if he knew all of that, it probably wouldn't make a lick of difference.

_What am I to you?_ she thought, over and over again. Thought it so loud she finally heard herself say it.

"What?" she heard him say.

She looked at him. "What am I to you?" she said simply.

"Well, you're—you're, uh…"

It wasn't that she hadn't expected it, but she felt it deeply—his lack of any answer whatsoever. He couldn't even come up with "mother of my child." She felt as if someone had taken her and scraped her insides, hollowing her out like a melon. But she was fed up with waiting for him to do nothing but continue stumbling on his own tongue.

"I'm not a child any longer, Arthur."

"I know," he said, almost chuckling.

"What I mean to say is that…there are certain things I want out of life these days."

He stopped and looked at her, his expression finally matching her seriousness of tone. She was surprised to find his gaze soften and his tone become pensive. "I know that."

"I keep waitin' for the moment when you might…" her gaze flitted away, but she pulled together the courage to look at him again as she said quietly, "love me." Her words sounded so pathetic to her own ears.

His expression turned hard, and he looked away, shaking his head. "You'll be waitin' forever, Eliza. That moment'll never come. Told you from the beginning. I'm a man with no love in him."

"And I don't know who you think you're foolin' with lies like that, but it ain't me," she shot back quickly, catching his eye. "Because I see you with that boy." Her voice clipped with emotion at the last word.

He looked away and shook his head as he grumbled half to himself, "You don't know what you see." He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. "It's different."

"Another lie," she said as she returned to her task. "It all comes from the same place. If you can love one person, you can love another. And I know you love Isaac. You can't try to deny that." She turned to face him squarely. "Tell me you don't love me."

"I don't love you," he said easily, with his hands out.

"No," she said quickly. "Just like fuckin' me."

His expression smoothed, and he pulled back, saying coolly, "You can call it that if you like. Just remember it was your word, not mine." He watched her eyes narrow and her face go red. _You make it too damn easy, Eliza_, he thought. "'Sides. Don't you forget: it takes two. And we're awful good at it," he said as he took his plate and went around to sit at the far side of table, facing her.

"You taught me everything I know, from day one," she bit back over her shoulder, "_seven years ago!_ Yes, it's been that long, Arthur." She saw him eye her with a glare before returning to his food.

"All you've ever needed is a warm body, Eliza. Don't pretend you care anything about me."

She stopped and slowly turned around. "How could you ever even think of sayin' somethin' like that to me?" A vein started to show in her forehead. "Ugh, Arthur Morgan, I could just throttle you with words like that!"

"How could you? You don't know me!"

"Don't know you," she leveled her eyes at him. "Anything I don't know is only your doin'. Don't you think I've counted the number of times I've seen you, Arthur Morgan… With the frequent visits early on, about twenty-eight times."

He raised his eyebrows. "Sounds a lot more than it is," he grumbled.

"Don't know you?! You put a baby inside me; you come in here bleedin', and I clean you up! Do you know what that did to me? Don't care?!" she breathed, and it came out more like a cry. He was just trying to hurt her now. Why? Why did he have to do that? Every time she opened an inch of her heart to him, he lashed out. She didn't think she'd ever opened this much to him before. "Some kind of a…sick, twisted son of a bitch," she bit out and shook her head as she turned. "That's what you are. Some kind of a…"

It was the worst thing Arthur could've said to her, and he knew it. And he'd finally said it. And still she hadn't said the worst thing she could've said in return.

"We're gettin' off subject," he said. "Point is, I won't have you guiltin' me into stayin'. I'm a wanted man, Eliza. Ain't nothin' gonna change that."

"Right," she said quietly. "You can't help that you're an outlaw. Just like I can't help that I love one."

She'd hoped to sting him with the mixture of sarcasm and truth. She heard him take a long pause before continuing, stinging her in return with silence. It was like she'd offered up a plate covered in gold to a scorpion.

"And you can't expect to cozy up to no outlaw, Eliza! I got bounty hunters, rival gangs after me—hell, half the time I got half the southeastern counties on my tail." He looked back down at his food, stuffing a couple bites in his mouth. "As it is when I'm here, half the time I'm lookin' over my shoulder for 'em! Stayin' away is the best way for me to protect the two of you."

He looked up when he heard a dish crash on the floor. She was bracing herself against the counter, and he heard her quietly weeping.

She turned to him with her eyes filled to the brim with tears. "I thought I was strong," she said. "You thought I was. But…you just—you…you come in here, and you…" She saw his shocked, puzzled expression. She could barely get the next words out, and they came in a whisper: "You _bind_ me to you," she said with a hand to her chest. "And then you leave, and you don't know it, but you take me with you! And just—over and over again, it tears me apart!"

A streak of panic rifled through him as he watched her go into hysterics that he'd never seen from her before. He might've finally pushed her to the edge.

Through the blur of tears Eliza saw his expression change again, and he got up and came to her. She pushed him and hit him when he came near. He wrestled her through her throws, finally grabbing her and taking her in his arms.

"It tears me apart, you're tearing me apart!" she cried, pounding his chest. She finally crumpled against him sobbing. "But I take it, because it's all I can get from you, and you're all I want. You're all I want." She hid her face in his shirt and tried to choke back the sobs, but felt even more pathetic. She focused on steadying her breathing instead.

"Enough of this, now," he said. "You're makin' yourself sick. You've gotta be strong for Isaac."

She shook her head. "You're wearin' me thin. You use me up, and there's nothin' left, there ain't enough left for him."

She melted into him, and he felt her go limp in his arms. He pulled back to see she was on the verge of fainting. He brought his hands to her back and tried to steady her, but she was going down fast. As her eyelids fluttered closed he scooped her up and put her in bed.

* * *

About half an hour later Arthur walked up to Eliza, looking surprised to see her pushing her wooden wheelbarrow in the garden.

"What are you doin' up?" he said. "You should be takin' it easy, after you almost took that tumble earlier."

She continued about her work, not answering him. She was so embarrassed about that. And about so many things. She knelt down on her hands and knees, beginning to pull up weeds.

"I'm sure that can wait, Eliza," he said, his voice low and deep.

Every single time he said her name, she couldn't keep her heart from fluttering. She saw him shift his weight and grab his belt out of the corner of her eye.

"You know…" he said, "you got me thinkin' I shouldn't come by no more; not if it taunts you and brings you this much pain." When she didn't respond, he finally sighed and said, "We just gonna pretend like this mornin' didn't happen?"

She turned and locked eyes with him, saying tersely, "That's right."

When she saw his exasperated expression, she ignored it and turned back around. She was clapped with the memory of the first time he'd happened to return to town, after having left the morning after they'd first met and slept together.

Nine months can do a lot.

.

She'd had no word from him, didn't expect to ever see him again. And yet she'd given birth to his child. And he didn't know Isaac existed.

And after all the shock and doubt and disbelief that she'd known no other man, he'd softened and accepted it. And she'd lain their tiny son in his arms.

"He's a baby, Arthur," she'd had to say. "Not a box of dynamite." As their son cooed and slept in his father's arms, she'd said, "Isaac. After my daddy, God rest him."

She'd watched as Arthur stared at the face of their son, for once at a loss for words. It was by far the most intimate moment she'd ever shared with another human being—to see his expression change and to see him enraptured so by the life they'd created that his voice had been completely swept away.

When he finally looked up, he swore he'd do what he could for them. He said that though he was under no delusions about what he could offer, he committed to tiptoe the line between providing for them and protecting them by staying away.

It was in that moment that she'd silently sworn to herself to accept whatever he could give—no more, no less—if for no other reason than it was at that same moment that she realized she loved him.

.

She blinked and swallowed past the lump in her throat as she pulled herself back to the present and dug a parsnip out of the dirt.

Her love for him, an outlaw absent in both body and heart, was her own sick fate.

She would do nothing to drive him away. Even if that meant shoring up her feelings from him, hiding the way he might be making her half crazed with pining. Keeping from asking him to stay.

She got up and walked out of the fenced garden area. "So I guess you'll be leaving us today." She glanced at him briefly and looked down as she walked past him toward the house.

He nodded. "You saw the money," he sighed, and it wasn't a question. He turned and followed her as she walked past. "I hope it's enough to last a few months. It's everything I got on me. I'll bring more next time, I promise."

"If there is a next time."

"Don't give me that, Eliza; of course there will be. And I won't stay away as long as I did last time." He ran out in front of her, stopping her as they neared the side of the house. "You're the lucky one, you know."

She scoffed, for once succeeding in not allowing her tears to emerge. "Nothing about any part of this is lucky."

"No, I mean…you get to really know him, and he knows you. I can never have that. I'm sure you've thought about that before."

She nodded. _All it takes is making the choice to know him_, she thought. She looked down at his chest, and the tears betrayed her. "I keep thinkin', Arthur…when my time finally does come, no one will know I was ever here, on this earth, I mean."

He sighed. "I think maybe you should try findin' a friend, so you ain't so lonesome when I'm away."

"And what if something happens to you," she cried, "and we never see you again, and we're left all alone in the world?"

He shook his head. "There ain't nothin' I can say about that, Eliza, except you shouldn't be worryin' about it. My life's always been mine to live or die. But I'm tellin' you, I'll be back. And I will. You'll just have to trust me."

"And I'm not sure Isaac will turn out all right, and no one will help him or remember him neither."

He sighed, growing weary of being piled high with a woman's worries all at once. And if he were honest with himself, he'd admit he was unnerved by how closely they resembled thoughts he'd had himself recently.

He was struck with the memory of the time he'd come to her in the dead of night with a fresh bullet wound in his arm, a couple years ago.

.

She'd jumped half a mile in the air at the sight of him. When she found out what kind of a state he was in, she'd panicked; but to her credit, she'd sat him down and set right to work bandaging him up.

"Shit!" he'd said as she'd worked on him. "Woman!"

"I'm tryin' to be gentle, but you keep movin'," she'd said.

He specifically remembered her face so near to his as she inspected the torn flesh, the touch of her fingertips as she worked to close the wound. Resting his eyes as she wiped the spray of his own blood from him cheek with a warm, damp cloth. Opening them again when he felt her movements stutter slightly, when she hesitated and pulled away.

"There. It's tender," she'd said when she finished. "Don't touch it."

"Don't have to tell me twice," he shook his head and winced when he tried to lift his wounded arm.

"I always knew you were a gunslinger," she said as she looked at the bloody bandaged arm, "I just never thought I'd see the fruits of it." She popped her head up at him. "Don't you have someone in your gang who can do this for you, fix you up? Why're you showin' up here?"

"It ain't like that. I was already on my way back here," he rasped through the pain as he tried to sit more comfortably. "Down by the dell. Got caught up, ambushed by a few fellers who had it out for me. Let's just say I made it out of the dell with a scratch, and they didn't make it out."

Her face drained of color. "Oh my god. So close?" She brought a hand to her mouth. "God have mercy."

"From what I could tell, it didn't seem they knew anything about you two. It was just plumb bad luck."

She looked back up at him, her face taut with fear and frustration, her tone rising. "We don't need this, Arthur. Your four-year-old _son_ is asleep in his bed, in the next room!" she whispered, pointing to Isaac's bedroom door.

"I know," he said, hanging his head in shame.

"And he'll wake to find you like this. _Oh, god_," she put a hand to her forehead, struggling not to cry. "You have to cover it up."

"Of course I will," he drawled pointedly, beginning to be annoyed.

"They can't find us."

"I know!"

"We can't have men like that so close to the ranch."

"Goddamn it! What do you want from me, Eliza? What do you want me to do? You want me to stay away for good?"

"If you have to ask, you have a thicker skull than I ever took you for!" she whispered, gasping back tears. "I want you where you should be—home—with me, with him! He needs a father; he needs _you!_ I want you to stay here, with us, for good!"

He looked at her, her tear-stained eyes demanding an answer. He looked past her and slowly wagged his head. "I can't."

"Can't, or _won't?_"

"I…I can't. Don't ask me."

"I'm asking! I'm finally asking!"

"It ain't an option, damn it!" he snapped. "Just drop it! Put it outta your mind!" He caught her expression out of the corner of his eye as she bit her thumbnail and clenched her eyes closed, and he slowly softened. "Save yourself the heartache."

"No chance of that," she said sucking in a breath. "It's my life sentence. I accepted that a long time ago." She sniffed and hardened when she looked at him. "I don't wanna see you like this _ever_ again, you understand me? You ain't like the others, you remember that. You have a son, and he has you. You take better care of yourself."

He shook his head and shrugged. "It's a hazard of the trade, Eliza. Ain't no changin' that."

"Well, if you're bleedin' you ain't comin' through that door. You turn right back around. If your son ain't motivation enough, let that be."

.

Arthur cleared his throat as Eliza came back into focus in front of him.

"He'll be just fine, Eliza." He paused as he watched Isaac play. "Listen to me," he said as he looked back at her, an urgency edging his tone. "I've learned that the days are short and go by much too fast. You take our son in your arms each day, because he won't be like this much longer. And before you know it, he'll be a man, and he won't need you no more. But before that happens you've got to teach him how to be a good one. And you can't lean on anybody—including me—for strength, because he leans on you."

She looked down. "It's a lot to ask of a woman, to be both mother and father to a child, Arthur. I don't think I have the make up to be father to him in that way."

He took her by the arms and gently jostled her until she looked up at him. "Enough with that, you hear me? Enough," he whispered sternly. "I'm telling you what you've got to do. You have little choice in the matter. There ain't no changin' where we are, where we've come. You teach our son to be a good man: one who chooses right, even in the face of hardship. You teach him that, and you'll do just fine. That's somethin' I could never do for him. You've done a fine job so far, a _fine_ job. And you _are_ suited to this. You understand me?"

Just then they heard Isaac's fear-laced scream, and they both snapped their heads in his direction.

"_Snake!_" he cried. "_Mama! Arthur!_"

Arthur's blood chilled. He saw Isaac's ghostly white face and ran in his direction—when he saw it on the ground, hissing in its coil and looking at Isaac, no more than a few inches from him.

"Don't move, Isaac!" he heard his own voice boom as he pulled his pistol off his hip.

Eliza appeared beside him. "No, Isaac! Oh, baby, please! Don't move!" she cried, watching with anxiety.

"Don't you move! You hear me?!" Arthur shouted sternly.

Isaac went rigidly still, tears streaming down his face. Arthur started to take aim in Isaac's direction, then paused. "Shut your eyes, Isaac!"

As soon as Isaac's eyes closed, he aimed at Isaac's feet and took the shot, all within half a second.

They ran to their son, Arthur reaching him first as the boy collapsed with nerves to the ground. Arthur caught him up in his arms and brought him close, listening to him huff and sigh, watching him tremble uncontrollably in relief. Eliza followed closely behind, gasping and sighing as she cradled him.

Arthur looked down and realized he was holding them both, his own pulse ragged from fear. It was as if he was standing outside of himself and could see the three of them there: himself stroking the back of Isaac's head as he sobbed, Eliza looking up at him with grateful tears in her eyes until she buried her face in his shoulder, his own face dazed and drained of color.

* * *

Later that afternoon Isaac was playing with the dog and Eliza was watching him as she gathered water at the pump when she saw Arthur step through the front door and come down the porch steps. He walked toward her with hat in hand.

"You look like you've had a bath," she smiled.

"Wanted to get one last one in," he said.

She tried not to let her smile fade so obviously at the words as he stood before her. A thought occurred to her, and she smirked. "That's the tub I gave birth to Isaac in, you know."

His expression halted, and he fought a wince. "No…you never mentioned that."

She nodded. "Had it brought over with some of the other furniture when you moved us out here."

"Makes sense. Just didn't realize it was there, of all places. Told you I was sorry I wasn't with you, didn't I?"

"You've said it once before, yes."

"Good." He cleared his throat. "Left a revolver for you, put it in the drawer by your bed. I know you know the basics."

"Yes, I remember. Thank you." She looked up at him. "You'll always have a place here, with us. I hope you know that."

He nodded. "I do." He hesitated, then brought one hand to her waste as they leaned in for a kiss.

She savored the feeling of his lips against hers, trying to imagine his kiss was filled with love, as hers was for him. She'd never loved somebody—not like this. And it wasn't fair. Her feelings for him would never cool or burn out no matter what he did or said. He was the love of her life even if she wasn't and would never be his. This life—small in a big world; this love—broken though it be true; this man—outlaw in name and practice but a treasure in her eyes, and leaving her—none of it was fair.

But it wasn't until this moment, when she let herself feel the full weight of her sorrow, that she realized she'd already become well acquainted with sorrow. She'd become accustomed and almost numb to its reality in her every day. It was no longer an unexpected guest in her life.

She lingered a moment with her lips against his before he slowly drew back.

"Wanted to get one last one in," she echoed his words without a smile or a frown, and turned to go back to pumping water.

"Don't make it harder on me," he whispered, his face crumpling.

She straightened and looked at him, saying gently, "You do what you have to do, Arthur. Don't give it a second thought." She looked out at the horizon. "I know you probably won't believe me when I say this," she continued, "but, as hard as it is, it's a good life."

He watched her as she looked back at him, still feigning unaffectedness. Her wet eyelashes gave her away.

"I've never been a person who needed much," she continued. "But I've got the world." She paused, breathing deeply. "And I've decided I'm not gonna fight it anymore. Because, maybe…maybe it's bigger than you and me," she said as she turned from him to look at Isaac.

"What's that," he asked as he looked at her, then squinted past her at Isaac.

She looked back at him. "Love."

He nodded and looked down, fiddling with his hat. "I want to thank you, Eliza," he said. "There ain't no words can express how thankful I am to you, for raisin' our boy." He watched Isaac playing in the yonder grass. He smirked to himself. "You said the doc said my son is 'very smart'?"

She nodded. "He is."

He shook his head and smiled. "I'll be." He glanced at her before looking back at Isaac. "I'm awful grateful, Eliza. He's beautiful."

"I can't take credit for that," she smiled as she looked at Isaac. "He's just like his daddy."

He shook his head. "I'll thank you for the compliment because I know you mean well, but pray to God he isn't." He looked at her. "Rather, you make _sure_ he isn't."

* * *

.

"Everything was fine, until you came around.

I'm hopin' someday maybe I'll just float away,

and I'll forget every cynical thing you said.

When you gonna hear me out?

.

Reality will break your heart.

Survival will not be the hardest part.

It's keepin' all your hopes alive

when all the rest of you has died.

So let it break your heart."

\- Paramore, "26"


	21. 21

About 3 Months Later, upon His Return

Arthur rode his horse at a trot through the grove of trees, ducking as he brushed past a few low branches. The blossoms rustled and the petals fell in a soft cloud behind him. Springtime in Misty Willow.

He grinned at the thought of Isaac rushing up to greet him with his arms stretched out wide. He could already hear the melody of his laughter trickle on the breeze. He'd kneel and take his son in his arms and kiss him on the cheek, and find it hard to let go. As Isaac grew, Arthur had always said he'd liked his new age even better than the last, though he hadn't previously thought it possible. When he'd been an itty bitty baby, he'd been more precious than jewels—and he still was—but he was getting smarter and smarter and interacting more and more all the time. Arthur found he liked the precocious little package he had in his son to talk to.

And Eliza. He could see her smile from the porch as she watched their son run up to him. He'd try to apologize for the last time he'd been there and behaved as an imbecile. For the rotten, sour things he'd said. And although he'd spent many a night under the stars wondering how to do it, somehow he knew the words still wouldn't come about right. He didn't know what it was inside him that had been fractured and set out of joint, but it seemed almost every time he got around her, at least once he spat at her like a viper. She didn't deserve any of it. This last time had been the most vicious to date, and he'd never even apologized. If his words felt flimsy, he'd figure out some other way to make it up to her.

As he rode up the little hill he always met before coming to the ranch gate, his stomach jumped at the thought of a hot meal, a bath, a bed, and a warm embrace.

He crested the hill and approached the ranch, pulling his horse to a slower pace. A pang jolted from his elbow to his hand, and his chest seized as he peered past the gate.

Two crosses. He lowered his head.

He rode over to the graves and looked down at the nameless markers. He slipped off his horse and sank into the ground on his knees. He let out a long breath, trying not to let the waves of grief pull him under. He reached out and gathered the soft, cold earth above their graves in his hand. It must've been relatively recent.

Poor, dear, sweet Isaac. He'd changed his life once, and now he'd changed it again.

He stayed there a while looking at their graves, just wanting to be with them. Nothing was left for him but their memory; those memories that passed before his eyes were warm, but the reality he now sat in was bone-chillingly cold and empty.

His only child and the mother of his child. Gone. They'd left him here, alive. He gritted his teeth and felt his face go red as a couple hot tears seeped out, one at a time.

Just then he heard a soft, high-pitched whimper from behind him. He turned to see the dog he'd gotten Isaac slowly inch through the front door, scrawny and timid.

"Allie?" he sniffed. "What're you still doin' here, girl?" He went and crouched in front of her. "Looks like you've grown some since I saw you last." She gave him a forlorn look, and he eyed her slightly protruding ribs as he gave her head a rub. "Grown and shrunk, I guess." He scooped her up and put her under one arm. "You're a damn fool to've stayed here, girl. Shoulda hightailed it after…" He swallowed. "Coulda found yourself some food, made it just fine out there in them woods. Were you pickin' the cabin clean?"

He lifted his head and gave a brief thought to entering the homestead, but quickly thought better of it. He never wanted to step foot in there again.

He took one last glance at the graves before turning and walking away. What more could the world take from Arthur Morgan? It _would_ happen to him, of all people.

* * *

"Lookin' back on all the wreckage,

all I see is their faces.

How many hearts have I broken?

And tell me, are they still breaking?

.

I went lookin' for attention

in all the wrong places.

I was needin' a redemption.

Get me out of these cages."

.

\- Needtobreathe, "Cages"

* * *

He road into Misty Willow, the town nearest the ranch, with the dog on his lap. He wasn't looking for Isaac and Eliza, and he wasn't looking for bodies neither. He knew where they were. He was looking for signs as to what in fact happened to put them there.

Once he reached the mercantile, he entered with the dog under his arm, approaching the counter and addressing the owner.

"Howdy. Found this little 'un a few miles back; she's mighty pretty to be a stray," he said. "Think you could find it in your heart to take her in, or know someone who might?"

The old man wagged his head. "Oh, no, sir. It's right kind of you to lend your thoughts to a little stray, but… Couldn't about think of adding another mouth to feed. Ah, is that a Redbone? Fine dog. Mighty pretty, you're right at that. Say, I know a feller in town who breeds them; I'm sure he'll take her in, get a few litters out of her," he said as he lifted the dog and took her behind the counter.

"Thank ya. Appreciate that," Arthur said.

"We gotta get some meat on your bones, girly," he said as he knelt to her and tossed her a piece of jerky, watching her scarf it up. "Yeah, she'll live a good life," he said as he straightened. "There anything else I can help you with?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, uh… I was just down by Deer Head Ranch, saw two crosses out front. What happened there? Sickness or somethin'?"

The man's countenance immediately fell, and his eyes sagged with grief. "Ah, Eliza and Isaac…" he said. "I used to take them groceries every few weeks. They'd make their way in here every once in a while too. Smart, sweet, church-goin' woman, she was. The kindest woman. Fiery too, if you got her goin'," he chuckled. "She would chip in for goods and supplies for the beggars and vagrants round the area, and once a month we'd pass out blankets, mugs of coffee, food and necessities. An angel in human form, she was."

Arthur's eyes went wide.

"She was a subtle beauty," the man continued. "By no means the kind that stops you in your tracks, but…her smile was somethin' to behold—when you were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it, that is. It could light up your world," he smiled. He looked at Arthur. "Hey, you're not a half-bad lookin' feller yourself. Maybe the two of you woulda been good for each other. If she'd stayed alive for you, that is. And that Isaac, sweetest little feller. Such a good kid. Sharp as a tack too, that one. He had a speech issue, struggled with it off and on—mostly on. She tried everything to get him to talk, but, oh, most days…" he shook his head, "nothin' doin'. But unlike everyone else, I knew he was no dimwit for it. No, he just wrestled with the melancholia, just like his mama."

The brim of Arthur's hat covered his eyes as he looked down, and the corner of his jaw flared.

"Some days Eliza had an easy gleam in her eyes, but other days…the light was out—faded, and she had shadows under her eyes, like she carried a weight on her shoulders…" the man said pensively and shook his head. He sighed and raised his eyebrows. "Some dandy bought her the deed to that land several years back, just after she had Isaac. She never did say who. I was glad for it, though. She needed it. Needed a quiet place outside of town. Well—" he caught himself. His face soured in disgust at his own words. "In the end, I guess she needed it like she needed a hole in the head."

Putting the pieces together, Arthur grimaced at the truth behind the sentiment.

"Last week…" he began.

Arthur straightened, intent on the man's face as he spoke the next words.

"Couple of miscreants found their way onto her farm," his voice went hoarse.

_Last week?_

"Held her up. Took her for all she had," the man said. "Ten measly dollars at the time. Pathetic excuses for human beings. They could've gotten much more robbin' a coach or a bank, even a train." He stopped and sighed. "It wasn't enough," he wagged his head. "So they shot her dead for her troubles. Her and the child. Couldn't have 'em tellin' tales on 'em, I reckon. Devil's logic. No good reason, if you ask me. Just plain evil to cover up evil. Cold brutality for its own sake." He sniffed. "It's hard to believe this is a world where I'm here and they're gone. Some kinda horrible mistake. They were so young, they were. So full of life, even if they didn't always know it themselves." He shook his head. "Such a waste."

He looked up to find Arthur gone and heard the door swing closed.

Arthur stumbled out the door and into the street. Feeling his stomach revolt, he turned into the empty alley. He fell on all fours as the loss and fury racked his body, and he retched hard.

But his mind sent him into a different time and place.


	22. 22

A Memory of 1886

Hunched over the bar alone with his elbows on the counter, Arthur thumbed the rim of only his second shot of whiskey. He looked up as the waitress wiped the counter in front of him. He rested the knuckles of his other hand against his temple. "What's your name?" he said.

"Eliza," she answered.

"Eliza…" he said. "That's a nice name."

"Don't think I've seen you in here before," she said.

"No, you wouldn't have. I'm not from…around here."

"In town long?"

He shook his head. "Just for the night. Back on the road tomorrow."

"What is it you do, mister?"

He threw back the shot and set it on the counter, then returned to the stein of stout he had nearby. "That's privileged information."

"Ah," she smiled. "Well, you don't look like a farmer or ranch hand," she said sizing him up, "and you're certainly not the professional type. So judging by that iron on your hip, that leaves either some kind of a law man, or an outside-of-the-law man."

He squinted at her. "You're a perceptive one, I'll give you that. Very sharp kid. I'll leave you to decide which it is." As she bent for something under the counter, he took another sip and said, "Although, sometimes, they're not so clear-cut, you know. Sometimes, the two kinda blend together."

"Ah, so outlaw it is then," she said smiling brightly as she came back up.

His brows scrunched together for a moment in frustration at having given himself away, then he grumbled and went back to his drink.

She grinned at his reaction to her ability to peg him perfectly. "Don't worry," she chuckled. "I won't tell anyone, mister. Your not-so-secret is safe with me."

"Aw, you don't got a nice beau you can tell so he can come in here and try to whoop my ass?" he said taking another swig.

She laughed. "No. No beau," she said quietly.

"Oh. Too bad," he said looking off into distance. "I might've enjoyed whoopin' his ass." He looked back at her with a quick wink.

She smiled and shook her head as she continued wiping the countertop.

"You don't have to call me mister, by the way. Name's Arthur," he said, sipping from his stein as she smiled in response. He eyed the way a few messy strands of her light dirty blonde hair fell out of her bun and into her face as she worked. "So what's a young kid like you doin' workin' in a place like this?"

"I'm not so very young. Nineteen," she said with a smirk and a dip of her chin as she took his empty shot glasses. "Oh," she sighed, "I shouldn't be here."

"What, is this not your shift?"

"No, no, I mean, I shouldn't be stuck in this position, workin' in this saloon," she said, sadness and frustration edging her tone.

He raised the stein and pressed the cool glass to his right temple as he listened to her.

"This is not the way my life was supposed to turn out," she said. "I had big plans: dreams of going to college," she smiled, "studyin' somethin'. Maybe music so I could be a grand singer, or literature so I could teach all them books. Or maybe medicine so I could become a nurse." Her smile slowly fell. "But—"

"Fall on hard times?"

She nodded and looked down.

"Ain't we all," he said as he took another drink from his glass. "Where are your parents?" he asked.

"Dead and gone," she said. "Just last year."

"Mm. Sorry to hear that," he said. "So you're on your own. Now I understand why you're workin' here."

"Just doing what I can to get by," she said. "Turns out I ain't half bad at that."

He watched her as she wiped the counter furiously, in pursuit of a shine he was sure would never be there. "No," he said on the tail-end of a sigh, "you ain't like any other waitress, are you?" He raised the stein up to his mouth.

She scoffed. "Do you always speak your thoughts aloud when you're drunk?"

"You should hear me when I'm sober. And I ain't awfully drunk. Not yet, anyway. I plan to have still another of these after this one." He took a gulp and set the stein back down. "Naw, it ain't a bad thing," he said raising his eyebrows as he got back to the subject. "Every waitress I've ever come across has her bosoms half spillin' out and only wants to get in your pants, both pockets and…otherwise."

"Oh, god," she said. "You really are sober."

"Darlin', I just paid you a compliment," he said matter-of-factly. "Learn to know one when you get one."

"I'll try to remember that," she laughed. "Very nice meetin' you, Arthur," she smiled, her eyes bright.

"Yeah," he said hazily as he sat up to watch her walk away. "Nice meetin' you too." He turned back to his stout. After a moment, he quickly downed the dregs and followed in the direction she'd gone.


	23. 23

"Your sorrow—

no, it can't save you.

It won't answer

for what you've done."

.

\- Needtobreathe, "Let Us Love"

.

"There's a window in this cage I'm in,

I can see what kind of man I've been."

.

\- Needtobreathe, "Cages"

.

.

Return to the Present

.

Arthur felt the powdery earth crumble beneath his palms as he ferociously emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground.

Her face had been so young and bright. And though loss and hardship had already touched her life, she'd still had the ability to smile then—really smile—and mean it.

It was a time when he'd still had the chance to choose to be someone better.

_Eliza_… Just a kid. She'd never asked for this, to get caught up in an outlaw's world. Only had been caught up in the moment like any other teenager. And he'd taken her by the hand and led her there.

But when life presented her with a child, she didn't back down. She'd loved and cared for their son with all that she'd had in her, to the last. And after everything Arthur'd done and said—and hadn't done nor said when he should have—she still loved him, whether she chose to or not, whether against her better judgment or not. That kind of love…he didn't have a context for it in his world. Apparently the world as it was didn't have a place for it either.

She'd never told him what she'd been doing, never told him she'd been giving money to help the poor. Probably because he would've bitten her head off. Even with the meager cash she'd had, she'd set some aside and given it away. Even picked up extra jobs to make sure she could both take care of Isaac and give it away. And in that way, she'd ensured that his money had ended up going to those in need. Money he'd shot and bashed people's heads in for. Money soaked in blood. She'd known where it had come from. So she'd put it in a pot with her own. After all that breath spent tormenting her with reminders that she didn't really know him because he wouldn't let her, only now did he realize he'd never taken the time to know her. She gave and gave of herself until there was nothing left. It only spoke for the kind of woman she'd been.

But he was nothing like Eliza. He harbored venomous anger. He didn't think he could find the compassion and loving-kindness in the recesses of his heart that she'd found. He didn't think the world deserved someone like Eliza.

Eliza. "_An angel in human form_…" Why he couldn't have spared a soft, kind word for her or shown her an ounce of affection from a place of real love, he'd never know. Only knew he was a broken person; and maybe she was too, but at least she'd tried—tried to love, and to hold on to what she'd had. As unassuming as she was, her love was quiet and fierce. She'd tried to show him. To show him what it means to love. And there had been glimpses in his time with her that he'd started to believe he wasn't quite what Dutch wanted him to be, what he made him out to be. But it was all too late now.

He'd always remember her as beckoning him gently to lay his burdens down and come and lay by her side. Though he never did release his burdens.

He shut his eyes and gripped his belly as his stomach revolted and another bout of sickness sprang up into his throat. He loved her more now than he ever had when she was alive, and he hated himself for that simple fact. It was fate's sick twist of the knife in his gut. But it wasn't just the sharp irony of it, and it wasn't just the anger and loss; it was his new love for her—the sheer force of it hitting him square in the chest—that was making him sick.

Once the waves of sickness subsided, he sat back against the wall and rested his arm on his knee, his belly sore and emptied of everything.

This store owner had known his son better than he had. The shame flooded him like ink in water.

Ten dollars. Ten dollars was all they'd had of worth in the house when the reaper came knocking. He hadn't provided for them better than that.

He'd been the villain in their story. All he'd ever done only ever hurt them. Slept with her and got her pregnant. Bought them the ranch. Left them. Came back.

If he hadn't slept with her, she wouldn't have been pregnant and alone, and had to raise their child alone. If he'd never met her, she wouldn't have been forced to pine after a man she could never have. If he hadn't left so often, he wouldn't have made his own son so solemn he'd stolen his voice away from him. And if he hadn't bought them the farm—or at least if he had stayed with them—they wouldn't have been murdered in cold blood.

He had entered a life and mangled it until it was snuffed out completely.

Was it all he knew how to do?

He had killed enough people. Maybe this was his just reward. Maybe he never should've expected to be able to cultivate and hide away for himself what he regularly deprived others of.

He had loads of regrets. It seemed it was all he had left—regrets piled high on top of each other. He'd give anything to go back, to make a different choice. But it seemed to be his personal curse: to only know what was best long after it was far too late.

After all that time and energy spent worrying about leading someone with a vendetta against him back to the ranch, it happened that some folk who had nothing to do with him took their lives on a whim one sunny afternoon because they had nothing better to do. That was the kind of cold, heartless world this was.

He could've protected them—_would've_ protected them—if he'd just been there. He could've chosen to stay with them, as a real man should, and married her and been a husband and father. Made their house a home. God knew they'd deserved it. And maybe…maybe he had too. He'd been running for so very long, it felt like a lifetime. He was tired of being alone. And they'd wanted him. After everything he'd done, they'd actually _wanted_ him. But his spiteful, cruel heart had pushed them away. Because he knew he didn't deserve them. He hadn't gone looking for it—love had just happened to him; and still he couldn't bring himself to accept it. He was his own ruin. None of that mattered now.

At least he could've been there when it mattered most. But he wasn't. And they'd paid with their lives.

He sat up. He would find them. He swore on his own life, he would find the men who did this and make them pay hell's highest price.

Fuming, he got up and went back into the mercantile.

"You," he said to the man he'd spoken with earlier as he came up to the counter. "You have any idea who did this to Eliza and Isaac?"

The man's eyes went wide, and he began to stutter. "W-well…"

"Any idea at all?"

"Well, they haven't arrested anybody for it; but if you ask me, I think it was the Cartwright brothers."

"Cartwright?"

He nodded, pointing to a wall replete with newspaper clippings and wanted signs with sketches. "Nastiest of the nasty. They were in the county area raisin' Cain around the same time, but they're still at large. Haven't been caught for anything they've done yet. Slick sons of bitches."

"Do you have any idea where they are now?"

"That I couldn't tell you, son. I only keep up on the news they give me in the paper, not anything further. You might try the saloon; there's always someone knows somethin' dirty on somebody and willing to talk for the right price. Might find yourself the first link in a chain that'll lead you to 'em."

"Thank ya, sir. Been real helpful."

"Hey, son," he said as Arthur turned to leave. "You're up in here askin' about recent murders and where you can find the killers. I know you ain't no law man. But rest assured, I ain't plannin' on bringin' up this conversation again." He peered at him. "You find those Cartwright boys, you send 'em straight to hell, where they belong," he nodded. "Give 'em my regards."


	24. 24

Arthur went back to camp and told Dutch and Hosea alone what had happened. They were the only ones who'd ever known about Isaac and Eliza. He told Dutch that he knew he'd always said revenge was a luxury they couldn't afford, but that he had to do this. He had to find the men who'd killed them, whatever it took, but that he'd be back, hopefully within a few weeks' time.

Dutch said that he wasn't without sympathy, that having a child pass before your own time was a hell of a thing, for anyone. But that it probably made it easier for him that he could hardly count himself the boy's father. And she weren't his darling neither. That if he could bring himself to think about the big picture, this would probably turn out a good thing. That as it stood he'd been spending too much time enjoying domestic bliss, that it was beginning to make him soft. That he'd see, it would all turn out all right in the end.

And that was the last they ever spoke about it.

Arthur dedicated himself to tracking down the Cartwright brothers. After about a week of paying people for information, he tracked down the first one.

Arthur entered the saloon and quietly took a seat at a table. Scanning the room, his eyes landed on a loud, boisterous drunk making a godawful scene of himself at the bar. Thinking this was his man, Arthur quietly took out his wanted sign to make a comparison. Having confirmed it, he decided to let him annoy the men around him for a few more minutes. After he'd surpassed the level of irritating that even Arthur thought there was, he walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You Jeb Cartwright?" he asked as the man turned.

"Who's askin'?" he grunted.

With one swift motion Arthur took him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

When he heard the place go silent and saw a few of the men in the place start to stand from the corner of his eye, he held up a hand.

"Now we ain't gotta have no goddamn bar fight over this slimy maggot," he called out evenly. "If it's all the same to everyone, I'm gonna take the trash out."

He heard the sounds of trickling laughter and hoots and hollers as he quickly dragged Cartwright outside.

"Hey! I weren't finished with that!" Cartwright slurred. "What do you want with me, mister? You know, I can be as bad and as mean as you!"

"Oh, we ain't in the same rank and file, you bastard," Arthur said as he threw him to the ground. He crouched and hogtied him, not that he put up much of a fight.

"Whaddya got against me, mister? Was just havin' a good time!"

"You remember what you were doin' about fifteen days ago?" Arthur said as he hoisted him onto his shoulder and walked towards his horse.

"Fifteen days ago?" he jeered. "Does anybody?"

Arthur pitched him again onto the ground and looked down at him. "The name 'Deer Head Ranch' ring a bell?" He watched as the effects of the liquor quickly ran away from his face, and just like that he was sober. "That's right. All caught up to ya now. It's judgement day, Cartwright." He felt his voice leave him as steely and cutting as a blade.

"No. No," he said trying to scoot backwards. "I don't want nothin' to do with that, all right? Leave me be."

Arthur peered at him and slowly followed. "You mean to tell me you don't enjoy those nightmares, those ghosts hauntin' you at night? Don't enjoy knowin' you took part in the killin' of a woman and her innocent child?"

"Please!"

"Don't relish the sound of the boy's screams as you try to lay your head down at night?"

"He never screamed."

Arthur froze. "What did you just say?"

"He never said a word. Didn't matter what we threatened him with. Never made a sound. Kid was a mute or somethin'."

Arthur's blood boiled in his veins. He took him by the throat and growled, "And you killed him anyway?!"

"Look!" he managed to wheeze. "That job was all my brother's idea. Leroy. And we parted ways several days ago. Butted heads so bad we couldn't stand to be round each other no more. Each went off on our own. Honest!"

"All right," Arthur said throwing him down. "Where is he?"

"Couldn't say," he coughed.

"Oh, you're gonna tell me. And I'll find him. After I'm through with you," he said tying the rope to his horse.

"No! Please! Let me go!"

"Like a snowflake's got a chance in hell, you're gettin' loose," he said as he mounted his horse. "Say your prayers now, Cartwright!" he called back. "It's gonna be a long, bumpy road."

Arthur dragged Jeb Cartwright for hours, choosing to ride over the thorniest, rockiest, filthiest paths, all while the lowlife wailed in agony and horror.

When the sun had come up, Arthur finally pulled to a stop. "Goddamn, _quit your BITCHIN'!_" he thundered as he jumped down from his horse. He knelt by Cartwright and turned him over to see he'd lost parts of his eyelids, nose, lips, and a few teeth; and his face looked like raw butchered meat. "You ready to talk?" Arthur said.

Cartwright garbled almost unintelligibly, "I hope you die early and slow."

"Naw, if you haven't guessed, that's your fate, you sick bastard, if you don't tell me what I wanna know. Now tell me where I can find Leroy." When he didn't answer, Arthur gripped him by the neck and throttled him. "I swear to god, if you don't tell me where he is _right now_, I will slit you and send you to your grave right here and now, you understand me? _Tell me where he is!_"

"Told you I don't know."

Arthur pulled out his knife and held it to his throat. "Well tell me what you do know!"

"We parted ways up at Hennessy Creek," he struggled to say through his chapped, bloody mouth. "He'd been talkin' 'bout makin' his way up north, towards the Dakotas and such. Said he'd heard tell the natives up there were dumb as rocks and easy pickins."

"All right. How fast does he move?"

"Doubt he's found himself all the way up there yet."

Arthur nodded.

"Mister," Cartwright began, "I don't know who you are, or what they were to you, but I'm real sorry. It never should've happened. You've cut me up bad enough, I'll have to go through life lookin' like this. Just let me go, all right?"

Arthur was hit by the memory of a scene in Eliza's kitchen, on one of his brief visits a few years ago, when Isaac was no older than a year, and still in his crib.

.

From his perspective at the table he could see her thin form and light, dirty blonde hair as she worked a lump of dough at the counter, humming to herself with her honey-sweet voice. She was wearing a light blue frock with tiny flowers all over it, and the pale blue satin ribbon in her hair that he liked so well.

He got up, walked over, and stood next to her, turning and leaning back against the counter. He tried to kiss her, but she grinned and dodged him a few times. Finally he slung his arm around her thin waste and yanked her to him, planting a firm kiss on her mouth. Initially she resisted, but he felt her relax against him as she pulled his hat off his head and dropped it to the floor.

After a few seconds, she pulled away again. "Arthur, stop it," she said between kisses. Finally she tore a hunk of bread from a loaf she'd finished earlier and stuffed it in his mouth.

He garbled as she successfully broke away. "Mm," he munched. "Ain't bad. Here, try it," he smiled as he pulled her back and kissed her again.

She gave a breathy laugh through her nose as her mouth met his. "Enough, will you let me alone? I need to finish this."

He watched as she turned to the counter and pressed the heels of her hands into the dough, over and again, with streaks of flour on her forehead and chin. He reached out and took one of her hands, succeeding in snagging her attention.

"Sometimes I think, it would've been mighty nice if I could've felt Isaac move when he was itty bitty, in your belly and all."

She stopped and slowly looked up at him.

He continued, "Think it'd been mighty nice for you too, if I could've been here for you. I've never said this to you, but, uh… I'm…I'm real sorry I wasn't here with you at all while you were pregnant."

She smiled, her eyes filling, and nodded. "Thank you. That means an awful lot to me." She sniffed. "I'm just thankful you're here, now." She struggled to return to her task, but wasn't very successful.

"Do—" he cleared his throat. "Do you ever think back on that night?"

She looked up at him. He saw that her green eyes were momentarily sagged at the corners. She looked down, and her chin quivered ever so slightly. She swallowed and nodded as she looked back up, piecing together a bright grin as she said, "How could I forget? You followed me around the place like a little lost puppy until it was time for me to go home."

He chuckled at the memory.

She smiled. "We were a hot mess, weren't we?"

"_Well_," he said with a wry grin, his tone shifting to a playful one. "You don't have to recreate it so well every time I come round."

She eyed him with a smirk. "You forget, Arthur Morgan. I was a good girl before I met you."

"Yeah, but…" he said turning and lifting her onto the counter. He smiled wide as he said, "What does it pay to be good?"

She smiled down at him and wrapped her legs around him and he brought his hands up to her bum. She threw her arms over his shoulders, crossing them behind his head, and sighed as they kissed.

.

Arthur cringed at the memory. He had succeeded in nothing but dragging her down with him—a bright young woman with nothing but promises of a full life ahead of her. And every time he came round to sip from her sweet cup, it was bitter for her.

He hadn't seen it before. He could see now in her eyes then that he had begun placing pieces of a weight on her that first night they'd met. Not just the weight of raising Isaac alone, and not just the weight of loving someone who leaves. But the weight of loving someone who won't give you his love, and won't leave you alone.

Arthur looked at the thug, bloody on the ground, and his own eyes glazed as he whispered to himself, "_What does it pay to be good?_"

He gritted his teeth, and with one fluid motion brought his knife deep across Cartwright's neck, slicing him and sending his blood pouring out of him.


	25. 25

"My fate is myself alone,

and I'm headed there fast.

With darkness approaching,

it's not my heart that wants to go.

.

So excuse me, darling,

while my heart explodes.

I've spent my whole life paving

this disaster road."

.

– Needtobreathe, "Disaster Road"

.

It took Arthur a little longer to track down Leroy. He imagined he'd been more or less the brains of the brothers' operation, though it wasn't saying much.

As he camped out under the stars on the night he felt he was closing in, he dwelt heavily on both Isaac and Eliza. He jotted something down in his journal and tore the page out, holding it above the fire:

_When I brushed your hair away from your eyes, and your tears and dreams came away in my hand like little glass pearls_

_When I saw your smile and twisted it into a frown, never once looking back as I walked away, breaking both our hearts_

_When I knew I was no good for you, and I made myself no good for you with each and every single thing I did or didn't do_

He dropped it and watched the flames crumple and burn it to ashes.

It was about dusk the next evening when he finally found Cartwright in an old, secluded trapper town at the northernmost foot of the Grizzlies. He'd studied his wanted poster enough to be almost certain it was him, even from his profile. Leroy was about to take some poor girl he was jamming up against the wall and keeping from screaming in a dark alley.

"Hey, beat it. Scram, buster," Cartwright said over the girl's muffled screams when he heard footsteps crunch in the dirt behind him. "I'm sure you can tell a private affair when you see one. Can't you see I'm gettin' mine?"

Arthur rested his revolver over Cartwright's shoulder, cocking it as he pressed the barrel into his ear. "You Leroy Cartwright?"

Cartwright groaned and held up his hands. "What's it to ya?"

The woman sucked in a breath as he removed his hand from her mouth.

Arthur addressed her but never took his eyes off Cartwright. "Ma'am, I think it'd be best if you leave now. We got some business to sort, he and I."

"Thank you," she managed with a breathy cry and scurried off.

With his hands up, Cartwright slowly turned. "I ain't never seen you before. What business we got?"

"The fatal kind." Arthur kept his pistol aimed over Cartwright's chest as he took a few steps back. "Deer Head Ranch."

Cartwright looked down, and a smile slowly crept up on his face. He started chuckling. "Fatal. I see. In more ways than one, you mean. You oughtta be on stage, tellin' funnies for a livin'." He looked up at him. "How'd you find me?"

"Your brother pointed me in the right direction. Before I sliced him."

"Jeb? You sliced him?" he smiled as he raised his eyebrows.

"After I dragged him."

He wheezed a laugh. "Well good for you. They oughta give you a medal. I'd shake your hand if you didn't have a gun on me. One less chicken shit in the world to worry about."

"Yeah, and we're about to be down another." Arthur stared at him. "He didn't seem to be takin' it too well, what you two did back there."

"He always was weak," he spat. "Couldn't take the reality of livin' in this cold, cold world. Me? I embraced it. Made me stronger. But him…well, there just ain't no helpin' some people. And he was annoyin' as hell. Came outta our mama's rat bag that way. Really, you done us all a favor."

"He's done away with; now I'm on to you. Why?" Arthur growled, pointing his barrel up over his nose. "Why'd you do it? They never did nothin' to you. You coulda left 'em be."

He scrunched his nose and squinted at him. "Why? There ain't no why." He gave a long sigh. "Whaddya want me to say, partner? You want me to tell you how she scrambled to get to him? How she weren't faster than my bullet? How he never even cried out? Or about the look on her face when she saw what I'd done, what her scream sounded like before I grabbed her by the hair and made her look again, before I laid her out and wasted her? I'm a bad man, I got no problem sayin' it."

"She— He—" Arthur cocked his chin to the side and shook his head, his jaw tight. "He was just a kid."

"Yeah, and—" Cartwright stopped short and peered at Arthur, pointing at him. "Wait, wait. You ain't tryin' to tell me he was _your son?_"

Arthur didn't say a word but glared at him.

"Oh, this is too good!" Cartwright burst out into laughter. "Well, she weren't your woman, that's for goddamn sure! I didn't see no ring on that dainty little finger! Mm! I bet she gave you good lovin', I bet she did," he nodded as he grabbed his belt. "Can't blame you. Hell, I would've dipped my spoon into that sweet little honey pot a time or two, taken my share." He lifted his chin to the side and shook his head in remorse. "Turned out we didn't have the time to spare that day. Cryin' shame." He lifted a brow and eyed Arthur. "Sorry to tell ya," he hissed. "Your little insurance policy didn't pan out. She couldn't get to that gun you left for her in time." He spoke with a tilt of his head and a sigh, "It was in workin' order though." He looked up at him. "When she made a move for it and I realized where it was, I turned around and shot her with it, nice and neat." An ugly sneer spread across his face. "Played that hand wrong; shouldn'a left, partner."

In an instant Arthur was there again, on the first night of the last time he'd visited them, making love to Eliza.

.

Her petal-soft skin trembled beneath his hands, and she whispered as he kissed her neck:

_"Be kind to me, Arthur."_

_._

He hadn't heard it until now. And there it was before his eyes: he saw what he couldn't see when he'd had her in his hands—the soul that had had everything stripped from her and went on being selfless—he saw at the same time both how strong a woman she'd been and how fragile he had made her.

In the end, she'd proven too fragile for a bullet.

He cringed as her death flashed at him in segments. He saw her arm fall to the ground, her blood pooling and seeping out of her. His mind's eye wouldn't let him venture up toward her head.

And little Isaaac.

He erupted at the thought. "You shot him! A six-year-old kid!"

Cartwright smiled. "And it were easy too. Some people die young. What makes it cruel is they somehow still lived a whole lot of life in that time. But they die young nonetheless."

Arthur was pulled by the memory of the very last time he'd seen Isaac.

.

"Please don't go, Arthur! _Please!_" Isaac cried, throwing himself forward after Arthur as his mother tried to hold him back.

"Arthur has to go now, baby. It'll be okay," Eliza said, trying her best to calm him.

Arthur went to him and kneeled down in front of him.

Isaac sniffed. "Was it me? Was it somethin' I did, Arthur? D' I do somethin' wrong?" he said through big tears, his bottom lip quivering.

"What? No, no. God, no. Why on earth would you think somethin' like that? You're my—" A lump rose in Arthur's throat. He looked into his son's eyes and reminded himself what he and Eliza had decided long ago: that it would be so much harder for Isaac to part with him, to go without him if he knew he was his father. It seemed it didn't make much difference for the poor kid. The older he grew, the harder it seemed to get. This was the worst goodbye so far. He sighed. "Listen, I'll be back. I will. Sooner than last time, I promise." He smiled. "I'll have more buried treasure stories to tell." He put his big hand on his shoulder. "I'll tell your pa you said hello."

Isaac gasped. "You know my pa?"

"Yeah," Arthur chuckled. "I know him pretty well."

"You never told me! Will you tell him about me? Tell him to be good, even though it's hard sometimes. Will you tell him to come to me? Tell him I love him, even though I never met him yet."

Arthur frowned and struggled to chuckle as he said, "Might have to get you to write all that down for me."

"Let me go get a pencil and paper," Isaac said, moving for the house.

"No, no," Arthur held him back. "No need. I'll tell him." He smirked. "You're a good kid, don't you forget. You're a good boy." He cleared his throat as he looked into Isaac's eyes. "You know…I know somethin' about your pa that maybe you don't know."

Isaac looked up at him, his eyes big, hungry for his next words.

"Your pa loves you, Isaac." Arthur's voice grew husky and quiet. "Very much." He ran a hand across Isaac's temple, brushing the goldenrod hair back, and kissed his forehead.

Eliza covered her mouth tightly and hiccupped her sobs back, trying to keep quiet as her tears overflowed.

At Arthur's words Isaac's eyes filled, and he wrapped his arms around his neck. Arthur held him close, allowing himself to feel the gift of love from a son who didn't know him—who couldn't know him—and whom he didn't know. For that moment at least, he found it was all the love he'd ever needed.

Isaac pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Why do you have to go?"

His heart sank as he tried to piece together an answer he couldn't find. "Well, I, uh…" he whispered and cleared his throat, "I gotta give your pa that message. 'Member?"

"And then you'll come right back?"

He nodded. "I'll do my best."

.

Arthur stared at nothing. _Why did you have to go?_ Of the few loves he'd known in his life, the love of that boy had been most important. And still he'd chosen to walk away. For what?

He looked down at his hands. He'd had the world when he'd had them. And he'd only truly learned it after they'd been ripped away.

He was a soul soaked in darkness, turned inward and mangled. He detested himself as much as he detested the man before him. He saw them as the same.

He caught a glimpse of Cartwright reaching for his gun. For a moment time seemed to slow as Arthur took aim and shot the gun out of his hand, shot his kneecaps, and each of his feet.

"_Agh!_" Cartwright exclaimed, gripping his hand and bending over.

Arthur walked over and pushed him to the ground. "Anything you can hold onto can be taken away from you. You taught me that, you son of a bitch."

Little Isaac. Arthur's mind wouldn't let him see anything about Isaac's murder, for his own sake. He would surely go mad. But to know was enough. It was enough for this moment, and for a lifetime.

He crouched down on top of him, spun his pistol around, and hammered him hard once with the butt, the spatter spraying up on his face. He immediately holstered it. He wanted to feel this man's blood in his palms and between his fingers.

He balled his fists and delivered blow after blow after blow until the man's face became mush. The anger and hatred overflowed into his eyes, and his face became red as he screamed and finally brought his rifle out, blowing away what was left of him.

He hung his head. Never again would he pursue vengeance.

He leaned back on his calves, closed his eyes, and caught his breath. His child and the mother of his child. His mind drifted to the image of the two of them lying side by side beneath the dirt, she holding their son close to her chest, made to be his only parent—permanently.

Never again would their names pass through his lips. He wouldn't even write about them from this point on. He had to stop resurrecting them, or he wouldn't be able to function. He couldn't keep them from haunting his dreams, but he'd keep all thoughts of them at bay. He'd fight to make them mere memories, not real people. He'd rid himself of this wound if he had to cut it out.

He rose, and felt nothing.

The moon could not cast a shadow as dark as what was now covering his heart. He was now a man with nothing to lose, nothing tied or attached to him in any way. The heady mixture of recklessness and freedom that he knew lay in his very next step was more than he could measure.

And the world was before him.


End file.
